


A Marriage of Ice and Fire

by alby_mangroves, Mystrana



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Art, Bedsharing, Bottom!Bucky, Drawing, Enemies to Lovers, Frottage, Game of Thrones inspired AU, Illustrated, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with way too much plot, Switch!Bucky, Switch!Steve, Top!Bucky, You Decide, bedsharing again but with a smaller bed, bottom!Steve, epic hate fucks, inopportune declarations of love, or possibly plot with way too much porn, regular hate fucks, top!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:16:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/pseuds/alby_mangroves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: Steve Rogers hates James Barnes. The feeling’s mutual; their families have been at war for longer than they’ve been alive. But King Odin has had enough. He orders the two of them wed to end the fighting.It’s not enough that they have to look at each other’s faces without spitting; the King has declared the year’s tournament in their honor. They’ll have to lead the events together. They’ll be wed in front of everyone.They’ll have to share a gods-be-damned bed.And if being married to their worst enemy wasn’t enough, now there’s rumors of assassins and talk of a new war and somehow, Steve and Bucky find themselves in the middle of it all. They’re going to have to set aside their hatred long enough to stay alive. And if they start to realize that they might have feelings for each other?It might not be soon enough.





	1. Prologue and Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (>'.')> Created for the 2018 Captain America Reverse Big Bang! <('.'<)
> 
> Hey, guess what? NONE of this would exist if not for [Alby,](http://albymangroves.tumblr.com/) whose amazing artwork and prompt inspired me to write every free moment of my life for the past few months. Throughout the process she has been kind, helpful, and a great cheerleader! Alby, you have a wonderful enthusiasm that is great to work with! Thank you so very much for everything! <3
> 
> This would also not exist if [Agentcoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop) hadn't been there to cheer me on and to read through sections of my writing at all hours of the day. Whenever I doubted myself, she shattered those fears. Thank you kindly! <3
> 
> A major thank you to [Leveragehunters, ](https://leveragehunters.tumblr.com/) who stepped in to beta this crazy thing and offered so much support. Her plot suggestions were top notch. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3
> 
> And finally, thanks to everyone who provided support on the rbb slack. I don't dare name names for fear of forgetting someone, but if you ever sprinted with me in GSD, I'm thinking of you! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Please enjoy!  
> ~Mystrana

Odin looked down from his throne, a grimace on his scarred face as he fingered the star-emblazoned sigil the messenger handed to him. “What has happened between them this time?”

The messenger bowed deeply even as a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “Your Majesty. A skirmish broke out the night before last on the eastern border of Winterforge Keep. Thirteen are reported dead between both sides, a field of grain caught fire, and the early planting was completely destroyed.”

Odin huffed out a breath, tapping his fingers along the arm of his huge golden throne. He ignored the way the messenger glanced nervously between the fiercely staring Kingsguard and his two sons, who sat in large gilded chairs and watched the exchange with interest. The King didn’t have a reputation for harming messengers, but no one had delivered news of this scale since the incident at Brightglass.

“Every fortnight one of you appears in front of me to report some transgression,” Odin said, glaring at the sigil in his hand as though he could force an apology out of it. “I’ve tolerated the occasional fight over these years with the assumption that they would eventually settle down. Instead, they insisted on escalating. Ruining a harvest! Enough is enough.”

Waving his hand to dismiss the messenger, Odin called for his scribe and then turned to his sons. They leaned forward, ready to listen. “Thor. Loki. Have your grooms prepare your best horses—I will have you deliver these messages in person. If there are any quarrels with the families, they will answer directly to me.”

Thor nodded right away, more than happy to give up the daily sitting and looking stern during his father’s councils in favor of a ride through the countryside. Loki pursed his lips as though he would say something, but held his tongue. As he listened to his father dictate the message, a smirk grew on his face.

“...this marriage will bind the two houses, ending their animosity henceforth. By my seal as the King, it is decreed.”

 

~ ★ ~ 

 

“I’m rather proud of Father for this bit of amusement. Marrying off the sons of two feuding families to each other! I couldn’t have done better myself.” Loki handed his green woolen travel cloak to Thor, who was muttering about the blasted early morning chill.

Thor took the cloak, inspecting it carefully before wrapping it over his own red cloak. The double weight of fabric helped him to finally stop shivering. Around them, groomsmen attended to the horses while their personal retinues settled into place for the ride.

Loki couldn’t contain his glee. “I’ve heard that the sons haven’t spoken a word to each other. Do you remember what happened during the tournaments last summer?”

Thor allowed his smile to match the grin on Loki’s face. “I do believe that Sir James bested Sir Steven in the melee combat, allowing for his House to go on to victory. It was quite the upset. I’ve never seen a man as red-faced as he was.” Thor shook his head with an easy laugh as he rested a hand on his horse’s neck. “This will be remembered as Father’s best idea ever or go down as his worst decision yet.”

Loki swung up into his saddle and nodded to his traveling companions as Thor did the same. “Time will reveal everything. Safe travels, brother.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve Rogers sat in his father’s chair next to his mother. The polished and carved oak chairs stood at the same level as the rest of the hall, a promise from his father to his loyal bannermen that he’d never set himself above them. Steve would have rather been fighting than sitting, but his father had claimed it would be a short excursion and that Steve needed to head the family in his absence.

His mother had been bustling around the castle ever since word had been received that the Princes were coming on an official mission from the King regarding that “short excursion.” Now she cast an unimpressed glare towards Loki, who stood before them with his royal retinue.

“Your Highness,” she said, nodding her head in deference. Her voice was ice, but Loki didn’t seem to mind.

“Lady Sarah Rogers.” Loki inclined his head just enough to be respectful and turned towards Steve. “And, of course, your golden son, Steven Rogers. A warrior, to be sure. A dutiful son to be commended. The favorite, no doubt, had there been others.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, wondering what price the King had decreed his family pay for his father’s unfortunate skirmish, and why Prince Loki seemed to hone in on him.

His mother cut off Loki’s taunts. “Thank you for taking the time to visit our humble home. Clearly the news must be pressing if you are here as the messenger. Please, avail us of the King’s decree.”

Loki gestured for his parchment, and a man handed it over. With a neutral glance to Steve, Loki began reading the official charge of the event. Steve listened to that part with half an ear, looking around their hall from his father’s usual position.

The hall at Starfell was a stately space with stone and wood walls. Furs and tapestries from past generations decorated the walls to sing the history of those that had come before, a history mostly of hunting and trapping. It had served them well; they'd managed to maneuver into position over the past three generations to be one of the highest Houses under King Odin.

“...James Barnes to Steven Rogers.”

That name caught Steve’s attention like the scrape of a sword being unsheathed. He glanced at Loki, whose eyes danced with mirth as he held back a smirk. Loki continued to read, “This marriage will bind the two houses.”

At the word _marriage_ , the room seemed warmer, much too warm for the bit of morning sun shining in the hall. Steve gripped the arms of the oak chair lest he grab for his sword and do something reckless, like point it at Loki. He waited, convinced that the Prince had come here on a dare or a jest from his older brother.

There was no such reveal.

Loki finished reading the decree and handed it to Steve’s mother to inspect while Steve wondered what exactly his father would say about the disastrous situation.

“Joseph won’t be back until later,” she said as she took the parchment, touching the King’s official seal. “If you need his seal for our letter of acknowledgement, we will be happy to have you here for as long as you deem necessary.” Her words were pleasant, though her face suggested she’d be just as happy for Loki to turn and leave.

“Ah, yes. He’ll be returning from the fight that finally pushed my father into action? Thank you for your gracious offer.” Loki smiled, baring his teeth. “It will be the perfect time to go over the details of this most excellent match.” The gold pin on his cloak, the symbol of the King, caught the light through the windows and glittered like ice.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve’s father arrived home, accepting the situation with more grace than Steve had managed. Then again, his father was already happily married to his mother.

At dinner, Steve pretended to listen to Loki make conversation with his parents while Loki’s traveling companions mingled at the other tables. Everyone’s words passed around Steve in a swirl of air. James Barnes, the only son of the despicable Barnes clan, was a sodding prick of a man, obsessed with fashion and always surrounded by both men and women. Steve had heard a thing or two of the way James would show favor to a special man or woman—a different one every night.

 _At least he’ll know what he’s doing._ The thought came unbidden, and Steve huffed a breath as he forced it down. He looked across the room to meet Sam Wilson’s eyes. Sam glanced over at Loki, then back at Steve and nodded. Good. They could have a sparring session after the meal. Fighting was the best way Steve knew how to deal with his frustration.

He waited the bare minimum of time before his departure wouldn’t be considered rude and then stood, excused himself from the table, and headed out to the training grounds along the back of the castle. The young grass, green from the early spring rains, bent under Steve’s boots as he moved with a singular purpose toward the small armory next to the stables. Grass gave way to the dirt sparring yard, where daily sword practice ensured nothing would grow.

Steve stopped to pull down the weapons, and Sam was only a few steps behind him.

“So you’re going to be married off after all,” Sam said as he caught the training blade Steve tossed to him. He assumed his stance and waited. “Here I thought your family was simply waiting for the best opportunity. Appears opportunity has been cast aside for necessity.”  

Steve took up his own training blade, the end blunted but the metal strong. “I’ll die before I let him touch me.” Steve swung at the air once and then saluted. “And I’ll take him and every single consort of his down with me.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Slow down there, friend. Let’s save the grand gestures for when they really count.” He returned the salute.

They circled each other, each waiting for the other to allow an opening. The stable boys came out to watch once they saw who was sparring. Steve and Sam came around frequently and offered them lessons in between their chores, so they adored them.

Steve and Sam were also very, very good with their swords.

Sam met him blow for blow, his cuts coming after each parry with a burst of speed. It reminded him of his duel with _Barnes_ last summer. His future husband. Steve saw red, and when Sam attacked again, Steve mistimed his block and stumbled a half-step on the dirt. He recovered enough to block Sam’s next attack, but was forced back another step.

“You ok?” Sam called, though he didn’t drop his guard for a moment.

Steve grinned as he nodded. Fighting was what sustained him. The sheer physical work of sparring had the fire running through his veins. Everything was clearer when he had a blade in his hand.

They traded another round of blows. As Steve pulled back again, he mused out loud, “Do you think the King will accept it if I tell him James fell on my blade by accident?”

Sam laughed, though he brought his sword up to parry without missing a step. “And which blade would that be, Steve?”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but a whisper behind them about his upcoming marriage caught his attention. Steve turned on his heel, dropping his sword and leaving Sam to shake his head and throw up his hands in frustration.

“This counts as my win! I’m putting it in the book. It’ll be official!”

“It is yours. I would have lost to your superior skill tonight.” Steve waved his hand toward Sam as he stalked to the stables.

He approached the stable boys who wavered for a moment, clearly wanting to retreat to the musty stalls behind them.

“Peace, Lee. Branson.” Though his stride was furious, his voice was calm. “My anger is not directed at you, though I will not have you two gossiping about me any longer. Do you understand?”

They tittered and nodded, eyes wide, and Steve sighed. He reached down and ruffled their hair. “Go then. Attend to your duties.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused even as they scrambled for the relative safety of the barn.

Sam was waiting for Steve back by the yard. The rest of the onlookers had also dispersed when the practice fight fizzled.

“Terrorizing the little ones over this wedding? It’s unlike you, Steve.” Sam had put up his sword, and Steve did the same with a grumble.

“And now you’re going to grunt like an ogre?”

“Ogres are a fairy tale, Sam. Unlike this particular...arrangement.” He scowled, looking down at his feet. “I just expected to marry someone I cared for, or even someone I could learn to care for. James Barnes,” Steve’s voice was icy, and he spit the name out like it was poison, “is not someone I could learn to care for.”

They walked along the base of the battlement walls for a while, and the movement helped Steve avoid thinking. Like the grass underfoot, some of the trees had began preparations for spring, already budding with new leaves even though the coming warmth had not fully settled on the land. Steve watched the tiny buds wave in the wind, wondering if they would be strong enough to survive the morning frosts.

“You know I’m on your side, Steve.” Sam broke the silence. “Riley was killed in one of those skirmishes.”

Steve stopped, bowing his head. “I know, Sam. It’s one of the main reasons I will never forgive them. I have to keep up the fight.”

“What I’m saying is, maybe it’s time to _stop_ the bloodshed. They took Riley from me. Have you ever considered we’ve taken someone’s Riley from them? That it’ll never be even?” Sam looked up at the sky, as though he could see Riley’s form in the clouds.

Steve waited, remembering how Sam used to light up when he spoke of Riley. After another minute, they started to walk again.

Sam spoke once more. “It’ll never be even. Not unless you can bring them all back. And you can’t.”

Steve bit his lip to keep from erupting with all of the frustration, anger, and denial that had been building since Loki’s announcement that morning. Sam didn’t deserve that. But he couldn’t be quiet. “I can’t stand by with idle hands while they bully the landowners up against their borders. I can’t let them try to angle for more power. I have to fight them. I swore it.”

“You will protect those same landowners more efficiently by following the King’s orders.”

Sam’s words rang true, landing a blow that hurt more than any blunted sword.

Steve frowned. “I still think I’d rather die fighting then go down like this.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve prowled the stone hallways of Starfell as the sun set, unable to wind down for the day and retire to his rooms. Supper had been much of the same, with Loki’s presence at the table a constant physical reminder of the King’s decree. Loki spoke of some other affairs of the Crown, and Steve’s parents seemed interested enough. They had the experience and the expertise to navigate through the double meanings of politics. Steve much preferred to deal with things directly with a sword.

He walked past room after room, until he noticed the door to his father’s inner study was cracked, firelight peeking through. Steve heard his mother’s hushed voice.

“...this could be the answer we’ve been praying for, Joseph.”

Steve paused. He held his breath and inched closer to the door to listen.

“Sarah. I won’t have the men we lost forgotten.” His father sounded passionate, but at the same time, he spoke each word like he was trying to convince himself.

Steve realized he didn’t have to hear his mother’s words to know what she would say next. Still, he couldn’t force himself to walk away, so he listened.

“We can finally end the bloodshed,” she said. “You know they can’t risk giving in without being seen as weak. Same as us.”

Steve could picture the way his mother looked when she knew she was was right, her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised. His blood went cold at the realization that his own mother was happily signing his life away to their enemy.

Steve didn’t bother to listen to what his father offered as a response. He’d been alive long enough to know that when Sarah Rogers knew what she wanted, the rest of the household had better step in line.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky sat in the grass and stewed. His face was warm, but the cooling air of the approaching nightfall whispered on his skin. Despite that, his pulse still raced, and he was pretty sure he’d punch the next person that tried to talk to him.

“Steve Rogers. Who would have thought?”

Bucky turned around swinging, but Clint was too fast and ducked under his arm. Bucky settled for a growl. “Don’t say that name again.”

Clint held up an appeasing hand. He also stayed out of range of Bucky’s fist. “You don’t even know him, not personally.”

Bucky shook his head, and his braid fell over his shoulder. He pushed it back. “Steve Rogers is a liar and a coward. I have nothing more to say on the topic.” He had a few things more to say on the topic, but Clint had already heard them all.

Since Prince Thor had shown up that morning with the King’s message, Bucky had been nearly incandescent with rage, unable to go through the motions of his day. Clint had offered a horseback ride into the countryside to help cool him down.

“We need to be heading back. It’ll be dark before long, and despite your arsenal of weaponry, I’d rather not be caught unawares tonight.”

Bucky scoffed at the logic in Clint’s words. With Prince Thor’s announcement had come a heavy sense of worry throughout the castle, everyone on edge as though the Rogers family might show up and attempt to invalidate the King’s order by helping Bucky meet his untimely end.

“Even if someone thinks tonight is the night they’ll take me down, I’m prepared.” He fingered the throwing knives set in his belt. He had his ever present claymore in its sheath at his waist and two more dirks on his back. “I’m always prepared. That’s the whole point of being at war.” And Bucky knew that Clint never left the castle grounds without his bow and a full quiver of arrows.

Clint nodded in agreement even as he got up and gave his horse a pat. The horse whinnied and huffed, stamping his hoof with a thud against the dirt. “Look. Harold is pretending to be you.”

Bucky scoffed. He got up, and the colder air seemed to wrap around him like a snake, chilling his back and legs.

“A challenge, then,” he declared, mounting his horse, Aric. “Last one back has to tend to both horses.”

Clint whooped and leaned forward, urging Harold into a gallop, and Bucky was right behind on Aric. For a good few minutes, the sound of hoofbeats filled his ears and drove out other thoughts, but as he slowed to navigate the path along the stream near Winterforge Keep, he found himself right back in the thick of his frustration.

“Who has the _right_ to marry me off? As though I’m some miller’s child with no say in my future?” He shouted the words to the clouds and the rising moon, as if he could petition the gods themselves to take pity on the ridiculous situation and send a helpful lightning bolt Steven Rogers’ way.

Clint had already leapt the stream at an earlier spot, thinking to save time by hitting the field first, but Bucky knew the grounds around his family’s castle like the unique grip of each of his weapons. What he lost in time going downstream for a few minutes, he would more than gain back heading through an old path with a rested horse.

The wind picked up when he entered the open field, and Bucky shivered, blaming fucking Steve Rogers for that, too. If Bucky hadn’t been so heated about this whole situation, he would have worn his cloak. He leaned close to Aric’s neck and moved with his horse, urging him faster across the field. They would come around the south end of the yard, turn up to the east, and make it to the stables before Clint got within ten yards of them.

Aric’s hooves kicked up the dirt as they neared their goal, and Bucky grinned with a pre-emptive fist in the air when out of nowhere, Clint jumped Harold over the low wall between the stable and the practice field. He turned in front of Bucky with a grin and a little bow from his saddle.

“Gods damn you, Clint. I thought I had you for sure!”

Clint shrugged as though it was no big deal, but his eyes twinkled even as the dark of night fell across the yard. “I took a risk that you’d waste a few moments grumbling about your upcoming marriage.”

Bucky slumped in the saddle of his tired horse. The night air seemed heavier than it had minutes ago. “Does the King even care what my family has done for him these past decades? This is how he repays us? Without us, the Rogers family would have pressed their borders further south until they could make a play for the throne.”

“I know.” Clint offered a hand to Bucky. “We’ve all been told that countless times. Trust me, I know.” Bucky took Clint’s hand, though he didn’t truly need assistance to dismount. But Clint cared. He understood.

“I ought to be marrying you if I have to be married off,” Bucky said under his breath, taking Aric’s reins and leading the horse to the stables. Louder, he added, “Bring Harold, and I’ll rub him down too. You won fair.”

Clint laughed. Apparently Bucky hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. “My ladywife would have some choice words for the King if he’d ordered me to wed you.” Harold led himself to the barn with just a pat on the rear.

“I’d be half as lucky to marry anyone as good as you or Natasha,” Bucky admitted with a small sigh _._

“Not everyone can be as lucky as me.” Clint nodded in agreement with himself. “Though her little birds are a nuisance on occasion. Did I tell you about the other night?”

“I don’t—”

“She and I were in the, ahem, middle of things when one of her birds flew in through the window with some message. They have no regard for our time.” Clint laughed as he reached out and patted Bucky on the shoulder.

Bucky pulled the ghost of a smile, taking down a brush from the stable wall and shooing off a stable boy who came over to do the work for him.

They tended to their horses in silence. The lanterns provided an inviting flickering glow but not nearly enough heat. Bucky’s arms and legs were starting to stiffen in the cold, and he looked forward to retreating to his quarters. He could already imagine the crackling fire in the fireplace, toasting the room and easing warmth back into his body.

“You said your intended is a liar earlier,” Clint noted, his low voice breaking the quiet meditation Bucky had fallen into as he ran the brush along Aric’s mane. Bucky grunted at Clint’s mention of Steve, but didn’t stop long enough to swing at Clint again. “How do you figure that?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Bucky snorted in a half-laugh, and Aric snuffled at the noise. “Because their House swore to bring us to our knees, and I’m still standing.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

The perfect fire on the hearth was all Bucky needed to drive the chill from his body. He sat in his comfortable reading chair, and the cold bled out of his fingertips, replaced by a comfortable heat that grew into the roar of his anger. He growled, ready to fight the next person to bother him.

“Your sister, my lord,” Bucky’s valet, Gale, announced with a duck of a bow at the entrance to Bucky’s sitting room. “She wishes an audience with you.”

Bucky breathed out his anger. “Let her come in, then.”

He stood up from his chair, one of the two furnishing the anteroom as his sister bounded into the room and wrapped him up in a bear hug. Thankfully, here in his own rooms with only Gale to judge his swing of emotions, Bucky could have a moment of joyful happiness.

“Becca!” He would have asked what brought her to the castle, but there was only one reason she would turn up unannounced this late at night.

“Oh, brother.” Rebecca’s voice, full of sorrow, had Bucky leaning his head against his sister’s shoulder. Trust her and Clint to understand his frustrations. “I know you had those grand notions of finding a match with someone that you care about, but look at this mess! If you had just gone along with one of mother’s proposed marriages, it could have been avoided!”

She put into words something that he’d been thinking about all day.

“Yesterday I would have argued that point, claimed that I was above being married off like a prize. Today, yes, any match would have been better than this. I just never expected it would end up like this.” Bucky sat down in the smaller chair and offered her his large reading chair.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stand by the fire a few minutes longer. I’ve been sitting all afternoon. We left as soon as we heard the news.”

“Bad news travels faster than good news,” Bucky observed.

Rebecca was older and nearly as tall as he was, with the same long brown hair. Now she mirrored his grim expression. “And we travel faster for bad news than good. What does that say about us?”

“Nothing good, just like always.” Bucky smiled, thankful to finally have the overwhelming tension of the day find partial release in that moment. “How’s Henry been?”

“Oh, he’s...Henry.” Becca waved off the question, but the firelight highlighted her smile. Their parents had arranged the marriage to solidify their position in the central part of the Kingdom, and Rebecca had been fortunate enough to come to enjoy the company of her husband.

It wasn’t perfect, she had confided in the past, but they had learned to make it work.

“And the boys?”

“Getting into everything, as always.” Her smile turned impish. “Don’t speak of this to anyone else yet, but—” She placed a hand on her stomach. “I think that we are expecting again. I had a dream of the flame. It showed me we will have a daughter.”

“If she’s anything like you, she’ll fit right in with your boys.” Bucky paused as a sudden surge of jealousy banded around his chest.

Why did Becca get to enjoy her marriage? Why did she get to have the daughter she wanted and the life she wanted and— He cut those thoughts off, severing the root of them as surely as if he’d used a sword.

Becca patted Bucky’s arm. “You’re making a face like your dinner might come back up.”

“I’m just glad you’re happy,” Bucky managed, knowing she would see through his evasion.

“I am sorry for this whole situation. But I’ve got to keep my role as the older sibling and remind you at least twice more that you could have avoided it by taking a match when our parents tried.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure even the King can force me into this marriage.” Bucky studied the fire and shrugged. “Will you be staying long? I think they mean to have me leave for Asgard soon.”

“We will be here for a few more days. Rest up, brother.” Becca turned, a fond look on her face, and Bucky found a brief moment of resolve that, yes, he would go through with this marriage because he was a Barnes and they could handle anything thrown at them.

Then Becca left and Bucky was alone, and the fire had nothing on his hatred for _Steven Rogers_.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Ice frosted the tiny wisps of grass outside, and inside, Steve shivered as he pushed off his bed covers. The expected early morning frost seemed colder than usual. Steve dressed in his finest woolen tunic, wrapping his fur-lined cape over his shoulders. He washed his face in the basin by the fireplace and hastened down to the hall for a warm breakfast.

Loki stood there with his jet black hair smoothed back and not a strand out of place. He grinned when he saw Steve. Steve remembered that he was living a nightmare.

“Your father has helped finalize our preparations.” Loki tapped a stack of papers on the head table where his parents sat. Around them, the servants were putting down the last places for breakfast. “We will begin our ride for Castle Asgard tomorrow.”

Steve walked to the table as though there was a wild boar waiting to attack.

Loki kept talking. “The king has ordered you and Sir James to the castle, where he will host a grand festival to celebrate the unification of the two most powerful Houses under his rule. He’s also ordered the two of you to fight in the melee and lead the hunt. Our prompt return is most important.”

“His Majesty is very generous.” Steve spat out the words and took his seat, gripping his cup as though it were his shield.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The fire in his hearth had gone out overnight, and Bucky grumbled as he pulled on two layers of clothing. Spring frosts were the worst.

“May I enter?”

Bucky looked up to see his mother standing in his room. Her polite words belied an iron will beneath, and he nodded his assent even though it was clear she was already in the room. He couldn’t help but smile; he and Becca took after their mother is so many ways.

“You understand there is nothing we can do to change this decree.” Unlike Becca, she offered no sympathy when it came to duty. “Regardless of our feud with the Rogers family, we all serve the King.”

“I do understand, mother.” Bucky even forced a smile, a sad, lopsided bit of a grin. “But I might yet hold out hope that His Royal Majesty gives up on this notion.”

Winnifred raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s not his style of rule.” She stepped forward, sitting down in a chair. “I had a dream of the flame last night.”

“And?” Bucky braced himself. Given the situation, there really wasn’t a good outcome to the rest of her sentence.

“The marriage will go through. We cannot allow the King a reason to charge us with an attempt to betray a direct order. Indeed, I suspect he considered all possibilities of this situation. If we agree to the marriage, we end the feud. If we attempt to avoid or subvert the order, he has grounds to destroy us. The fate of our House rests on your shoulders.” She watched him until he squirmed as though he were a boy of seven caught in a lie.

Bucky swallowed. “I will do my duty by you and father.” The promise stung like a hornet.

“Good. That is all we expect of you.” She smiled, as she stood again and put a hand on his shoulder. “And I understand that in this case, the expectation is quite high.”

“If there’s one good thing about all of this,” Bucky said, “at least I’ll get to spend some time to the south and avoid these flaming spring frosts.”

His mother laughed. “Yes. The next thing I know, you’ll be writing us a letter from Wakanda. Go on and pack.”

Bucky spent the rest of the morning filling his trunk. He shoved his clothes along the bottom and filled the sturdy wooden chest with more than a few extra knives and short daggers. He surveyed the contents and realized he had forgotten to pack his luck.

With a roll of his eyes at his forgetfulness, Bucky reached up to the top shelf of his wardrobe and grabbed a small wrapped package. His luck just happened to be another dagger, one that he had won at the King’s tournament. Bucky unwrapped the weapon and ran his fingers over the opals inlaid in the gold handle.

The artisan-made, ornamental piece was utterly useless as a defensive weapon, but Bucky was certain he could find a time for gods-be-damned _Steve Rogers_ to catch a glance of it. The dagger would be a good reminder that Bucky had won that year’s tournament, just like he planned to win this one. Bucky grinned as he shut the trunk and went to lock it.

The last loop on the back of his key was broken, and Bucky turned it over in his hands as he inspected it. The key still worked, and in a pinch, he could use the broken loop as a makeshift weapon. Satisfied with his packing, he turned the key in the lock. Bucky headed downstairs to say his goodbyes, as somber as if he was traveling to his funeral.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve stared off into the distance as his horse, Raynor, kept pace with the rest of Prince Loki’s group. They had been traveling for a day and a half and were now starting to come up on another group. Steve recognized the standard for the Kingsguard. He squinted and, yes, on the largest white horse sat Prince Thor, Loki’s older brother and the Heir to the Crown.

If Loki had been tasked with retrieving Steve, then Thor must have James. Steve’s heart started to race at the thought of having to see his future husband. It skipped a beat at the thought of having to _speak_ to him. Gods. Were his palms starting to sweat? Steve had been so sure they would have kept him separate from James until the last possible moment to avoid fighting. Not to mention that Winterforge was much farther to the east; Thor’s group must have left almost a day earlier.

“Ah, there, up ahead.” Loki nodded to where Thor was calling a halt. “Good. We’re not late for lunch.” He turned toward Steve and pointedly glanced at Steve’s scabbard. “Are you going to behave or will we have to tie you up?”

Steve clenched his jaw. He huffed out a sigh and nodded. “Aye, your Highness. You have my word that I won’t try to murder my future husband.” His words was stiff as he tried to hide his true feelings behind a jest.

Loki laughed.

Raynor stamped his impatience, picking up on Steve’s nerves. Steve brushed a hand through his mane, whispering words of calming. Whether they were for the horse or himself, he couldn’t say. They continued to approach the stopped group, Loki’s guard falling in with Thor’s and dividing up watch and patrol as easily as breathing.

Thor turned to greet his brother. As he moved out of the way, James Barnes came into Steve’s direct line of sight.

And _shit_ , James was gorgeous. Steve remembered him covered in armor from last year at the King’s tournament. But here he was wearing a traveling outfit, and his face wasn’t hidden. His dark hair was braided and tied off with a length of leather. Strands had fallen around his face, framing cheekbones that could cut glass. Steve stomach lurched, a sudden heat rising to his face and traveling down his chest. His heart began to thump wildly as he connected "future husband" with "sharing his bed." Steve stuffed that thought down as far as it could go, trampled it beneath the ground, and when he looked up again, James was glaring back at him with daggers in his eyes.

 

 

~ ★ ~

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky fixed Steve with a look he hoped could kill. One hand went to the hilt of his sword. The other rested on his throwing knives, and he had to make a conscious decision not to draw his sword. Prince Loki was marching Bucky’s sworn enemy towards him. What did he expect him to do? He wasn’t about to make noises like someone who was reuniting with the lover they'd been long separated from.

Bucky settled for taking a huge breath in, letting it out, and doing his best to ignore the bastard who was now four paces away. Just close enough to attack, just far enough for him to get his sword out in response.

On his other side, Thor was hugging Loki, thumping him on the back and smiling.

“Well met, brother!” Thor’s blonde hair seemed to glitter in the sunlight. Maybe there was something to the “royalty as divinities” bit his tutor had harped on when he was a boy. Loki’s black hair shimmered just as brilliantly, like obsidian with a fresh shine.

Staying focused on their hair meant he didn’t have to pay attention to how damn loud Steve the bastard was breathing near him. It was like listening to a squire at their first battle, the way their breathing went erratic as they shook from battle nerves.

Bucky grinned. Maybe he had inspired those nerves.

He spared half a glance at where Steve _(the bastard)_ was standing and scoffed. Steve’s ridiculous loose hair was long to his shoulders, shining gold in the sun. How any of these men were traveling with their hair down was beyond him. Bucky skipped making eye contact again lest he forget himself and draw his weapon. Any of them would do.

He forced his hand to unclench and continued his covert glance. Steve’s outfit for travel was simple, but his fur lined cloak looked overly extravagant—and comfortably warm in the lingering chill of the late morning.

 

 

Bucky pulled his traveling cloak closer and turned his attention back to lunch preparations. No doubt they’d start back on the road before too long. He certainly didn’t have time to entertain the thought that ran through his mind of Steve wearing nothing but that cloak. Apparently, his cock hadn’t gotten the message that they were enemies.

Luckily, the rest of his body understood the dire importance of the situation. As the group settled down to eat, Bucky turned to the side so that Steve was only visible from the corner of his eye, just enough to give him time to react if Steve tried anything. It certainly wasn’t to watch the play of the sun on Steve’s hair and the way he pressed his lips together as he stared at Bucky.

Oblivious to his discomfort, or perhaps in spite of it, Thor clapped Steve on the back and offered him a plate of food.

“Thank you, Your Highnesses. Your hospitality is much appreciated.” Even Steve’s voice was deep and beautiful, and Bucky hated it.

Bucky remembered the King’s tournament last year quite well. His victory over Steve had allowed his House to claim the win in the melee. Steve hadn’t spoken a word to him, though he had inclined his head a fingertip’s distance in acknowledgment of his win. That moment had shown Bucky that Steve was the sort of man who followed the rules and did exactly what was expected of him.

Like he was doing now.

“It must be lovely to finally be in each other’s company.” That was Thor, and was it Bucky’s imagination, or did he flash a very self-satisfied grin at Loki? Bucky swallowed, torn between his duty to respond to a royal question and his desire to not say a word in Steve’s presence.

“We have—” Steve tried a response and Bucky smirked to see him flounder for words. Bucky heard Steve swallow. “You favor us to let us spend time getting to know each other, your Highness.”

Bucky bit his tongue to stop from shouting at Steve that he didn’t need any time getting to know him. He had to say something, but the only words coming to mind weren’t fit for polite company, let alone royalty. He couldn’t be rude to the Princes.

With a deep breath, he focused his attention on the ground and nodded. “Thank you for your kind consideration, your Highness.”

Thor laughed deeply, and Bucky frowned.

“I think, perhaps, my brother has noticed that your ears are boiled,” Loki noted, his voice too neutral to be disinterested. “Just the same as Sir Steven’s here. You two shall make quite the pair.” His eyes sparkled with mirth.

He chanced a glance at Steve, who was wearing his emotions like a boy who’d never been to court, staring at Loki with a bit of a hurt expression plastered on his face.

Bucky sighed, and curled his lips up into a smile, trying to ease the conversation onto a more pleasant topic. “Now that’s a royal blessing. Pray tell, what do you know of the tournament your father has planned for this event?”

The change of topic worked, and Thor launched into a description of the hunting and sparring events the King planned to host. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky noticed Steve smile in relief before fixing his face into something more stern.

 

~ ★ ~

 

For all Steve’s worries about traveling with James, the rest of their trip proved unremarkable. Perhaps Thor and Loki took pity. They had James travel up near the front and Steve near the back. When they camped for the night, they each got their own small tent and when they arrived at the castle, they were whisked away to separate wings before Steve could even chance another glance at James’s rather lovely profile.

“These will be your quarters before the wedding. It would, of course, be immoral to allow you and your husband-to-be to room together before the official ceremony.” Loki grinned as he showed Steve the outer sitting room and the inner bedroom.

“These accommodations are more than adequate.” Steve was pleased his voice did not betray his frustration.

Loki left, and the porter placed Steve’s trunk at the foot of the bed. “If you need to freshen up before supper, I can have them draw you a bath.”

Steve nodded. “Thank you. I should like to bathe before presenting myself to the King tonight.”

The porter nodded, and before long, servants came up with boiling water that they poured into the tub in the small bathroom off of the bedroom. Steve thanked them and stripped, sinking into the tub and sighing. For a moment, he could close his eyes and pretend he was in the bath at home, cleaning in preparation of the week ahead. He could pretend he was washing off the sweat from training and chores and scrubbing up to meet his mother’s standards for supper. He stood naked in his bathroom and let the cool air dry him, a lovely feeling after being in the warm water.

Steve opened his eyes. The stone walls of the castle were covered in unfamiliar tapestries, woven with pictures of the royal family’s crest and accomplishments. His peaceful moment was broken. Tonight, he would be presented with James Barnes at their engagement party. The bile rose in his throat.

 

~ ★ ~

 

In his rooms, Bucky inspected the uniforms that had been provided. The silk was soft, the gold vibrant and the green rich. He slipped into his finest dress uniform, but the smooth fabric still seemed to scrape against his skin. He straightened up, adjusting the shirt and checking his buttons. His hair was damp from the bath, but the fire a servant had set in the room’s fireplace was helping to rectify that.

He combed his fingers through his hair, dividing it in four sections and weaving them together, a more intricate braid for the engagement feast tonight. He tied it off with a length of leather and enjoyed the heat of the fire a moment longer before the young servant assigned to his quarters came to fetch him for dinner.

The servant—was his name Leif?—was quiet as they walked, which suited Bucky fine. He had to admit that he was staring at the castle. Asgard was beautiful, a sprawling fortress that wore its years well. The stones of the hallways were inscribed with an ancient script that Bucky couldn’t quite place. Sconces on the wall were inlaid with gems and a line of gold.

That gold line seemed to grow thicker as they got closer and closer to the great hall. The hallway opened into a gigantic room easily three times the size of his family’s hall. Bucky had been here the past few years for the tournament, seated with his House near the larger tables at the middle of the room. Down at the farthest end, more tables were packed in for the lesser Houses. Up at the front was Odin’s throne.

The throne never failed to amaze Bucky. It was gilded in gold with the back curling up toward the walls to the sky. Above the throne, the ceiling was painted in murals depicting Odin and his victories. Bucky couldn’t help but stare for a moment, the dramatic paintings bringing the stories of old to life in breathtaking detail.

In the same thought, he chided himself for acting the boy at his first court and then dismissed it. Who wouldn’t be impressed by this display of wealth and power?

The hall was almost full, families from all of the lesser Houses filling the tables. Where his family would normally sit was empty. Where Steve’s - _the bastard_ \- family would have sat was empty too.

The servant stood at his elbow. “Sir James? This way, please.”

Bucky nodded, and followed him to a place set at the head table, next to where Steve would presumably be sitting. He settled into the chair as though it was made of thorns and kept an eye out for Steve’s appearance.

Next to Steve’s place sat the Princes and next to them were King Odin and Frigga, the Queen. The King was speaking to her, so Bucky dared not interrupt. He settled for scanning the room, noting the entrances and keeping an eye on the number of guards that had been posted. It seemed highly unlikely that anything would happen tonight, but Bucky had been wrong before.

“Excuse me. Sir Steven? This is your place.” A young servant led Steve in his dress uniform of gold and red to the spot next to Bucky, and Bucky frowned. Had he really been so occupied in counting the number of guards that he had missed the actual enemy? He scowled up at Steve in lieu of a greeting.

“James.” Steve’s nod was curt and the acknowledgment curter. It was as though Steve had found a way to chip ice into words.

Bucky settled for nodding back. He thought about saying something else, but then King Odin stood up, pushing back his chair and placing one hand on the table. The room stilled.

The King smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile—it was the sort that Bucky was used to seeing when the enemy had the upper hand. Or at least, when they thought they had the upper hand. Yes, that smile was downright ruthless, and King Odin knew it.

“My friends,” King Odin proclaimed to the room, “we are gathered here this evening to witness the start of a new path, the forging of a bond between two Houses previously unable to find peace. Here and now, they have each offered their only son to be wed in a gesture of goodwill. Tonight, the countryside will sleep without fear of falling to their crossfire!”

The crowd below the high table roared, clapping and cheering, and Bucky had the good sense to feel embarrassed as his face burned. A fire rose in his chest, a heated desire to stand up and tell the people his side of the story, the side that they might not have heard. He got as far as scooting his chair back before he realized the sort of punishment he could bring down on his family for misbehaving in front of the King, and slid his chair back toward the table.

King Odin continued his speech, speaking to the various Houses and commending them for this and that, and it really didn’t matter. There was no getting out of this decree. Bucky reached for his glass of wine.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve listened to the King’s speech with half an ear. His focus was the crowd in front of them. Most everyone was looking at Odin, but a few here and there were staring at him and James. They glared as though the two of them were personally responsible for everything their families had done.

Despite that, Steve wasn’t as convinced as the King seemed to be that their marriage would prevent further bloodshed. After all, if they hadn’t been there keeping the Barnes family in check, they would have made a play for the throne already.

When King Odin finished, the crowd cheered again, and the servants descended on the room, bringing out soup, a warm, dark broth that was probably very delicious. Food had a way of tasting like sand to Steve ever since Loki had brought the news of his marriage.

To his side, James seemed determined to ignore his presence, so Steve took a moment to study him. He had done something to his braid, and the hair was woven like a piece of fancy cloth. Did James know how to do that himself or did he have someone help him? It looked like it took a skilled hand to put together.

James’s clothing was similar to Steve’s—woven silk with fiery red embroidery. The Barnes’ household crest was a lion rampant in front of a fire. They didn’t need the crest to let everyone know they were loud, angry, and obnoxious. The thought made Steve smile. James certainly hadn’t disproved his theory yet.

“I can hear your stupid grin from over here.” That was James now, talking to him but still not looking. “I’m glad one of us thinks this is hilarious.”

Had they been in private, Steve would have rolled his eyes. No, had they actually been in private, he would have done a lot more than roll his eyes. Drawn his sword maybe. Forgone the sword and wrestled the jerk next to him to the ground. That would remind him who was more powerful here.

That thought sent a wave of excitement rushing through his body. Steve's ears started to heat as he considered how easily he could wrestle James to the ground. No. He needed to stop that before his blush reached his face and he opened himself up to more scathing comments. He focused on his food.

“Not smiling now? Maybe soup is too complicated for you to concentrate on eating and thinking enough to form words at the same time?” James still wasn’t looking Steve’s way, just tossing the comments over and expecting Steve to lie down and take it.

“At least _I_ don’t have the blood of innocents on my hands,” Steve spat out the first thought that rose to his mind, turning to glare at James.

James met his eyes with sparks blazing. “If you had even the slightest idea how much bloodshed I have prevented despite your family’s _pathetic_ war—”

It was all Steve could do not to punch him. He heaved a giant breath, trying to pull on his mantle of ice the way his mother had shown him. But James had cracked it completely, shattering his self control. “Are you really so pompous that you believe all of the horseshit you’re shoveling?”

“Ahem.”

Behind them, Loki cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. Steve turned briefly and saw that nearly half the hall was watching them. Waiting. Those same people who had been glaring earlier were smirking now.

All at once, Steve understood, and he sunk back into his chair like a scolded dog. He forced a strained smile to his face. “My apologies. I forgot myself for a moment.”

“Indeed.” Loki went back to his dinner.

Steve waited to see if James would apologize, but he had turned his attention back to his soup, his focus so far inward that Steve doubted anyone else existed in his world right now.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky stared at his soup as if daring it to retaliate, too. He kept his shoulders down and back and his breathing even, though he wanted nothing more than to take the bastard next to him to task and truly show him his place. He had seen what Steve had seen though—the faces in the crowd, people waiting on the edge of their seats, hoping for cheap entertainment in the form of the two of them fighting at the table.

He thought about offering a word of truce as the servants brought out a course of fish, but was unable to form the words without wanting to spit. Steve would just have to take his silence as an ample token of a ceasefire. For now.

Bucky picked at courses of rice cooked in fragrant spices, vegetables roasted with salt, venison as tender as could be, and chilled fruit with cream. His only comfort for wasting such amazing delicacies was that Steve seemed to have the same problem.

He was aware of every movement to his right. Steve might have been trying to play nice, but it seemed to be wearing on him. Steve stabbed his food like he was trying to make sure it was truly dead, chewed each piece twice as long as necessary, and drank wine fast enough to drown a fish. Bucky eyed his own refilled goblet. He was probably matching Steve cup for cup tonight.

Still, Bucky was steady enough on his feet when King Odin dismissed the feast, and so was Steve. As everyone left the hall, little Lief came to show Bucky back to his rooms. Out in the hallway, Bucky made the mistake of turning to look at Steve, and, shit, he was still smoldering in his direction. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, the two of them standing in the middle of the stone hallway floor.

“What, you’ve got something to say now?” Bucky spat out the words before he could stop himself, and Steve grinned, a devilish smirk that stole Bucky’s breath and had him wondering why the fuck his dick was responding to that smile.

Steve took a step towards him, covering more ground than should have been possible in that one stride. “If you’re gonna act like you’re so big, why don’t you prove how tough you are?”

“I’ll take you on, whatever weapon you pick.” It didn’t matter to him; he’d had combat practice in every weapon his family’s armorer had managed to find, design, or forge.

“Sir?” Lief’s voice was uncertain, but the boy managed to interrupt them, which took considerable courage. Bucky was about two feet away from shoving Steve across the floor. He knew full grown men that wouldn’t try to step between them. “The practice yards would be closed at this hour. I can arrange for you two to have a slot tomorrow if you wish.”

Steve, _the bastard_ , laughed, and some of the tension dissolved into the air. “Kid. I’ve never had someone interrupt me like that before.”

His laugh had Bucky hot under his silk collar. He had to be careful or he’d issue a grappling challenge just to work off some of the anger wrapped around him. “I’ll retire to my rooms then. Unless you’ve got something else to say?” He glared at Steve, willing him to step up to take the bait.

He couldn’t even finish the sentence before Steve had taken another step, well into Bucky’s personal space. Steve’s breath was warm and smelled of wine. “Are you inviting me in? Because that’s scandalous with our wedding day looming over us.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Steve had no right being so close to him. But he didn’t step back. He just squared his shoulders. “I don’t give two whits what you think about me _._ But I won’t stand for you spewing misinformation about my family. So let’s clear that up, shall we?”

Steve brushed even closer, putting them toe to toe, eye to eye. Steve’s eyes really were like ice, Bucky realized, blue with a snowflake of icy white.

“Then tell me what I’ve got wrong.” Steve’s voice was low and rough, and Bucky’s groin went white-hot, a sudden spark of lightning running across his body.

Bucky couldn’t get out another word. He just waved his hand to dismiss their servants and turned on his heel, jerking his head for Steve to follow. He didn’t wait to see if Steve did, but he could hear the footsteps on the stone. Steve was following just as closely as he’d suspected he would.

They had only just burst through the door of his sitting room when Steve lurched forward, graceful despite the wine, pinning Bucky to the wall.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Bucky growled.

Steve pushed him up against the tapestry and rough stone, and Bucky waited a moment before pushing back with all of his weight, stunning Steve just long enough to break free of his grip. Bucky kept pushing him back until Steve stumbled over a bench and fell with a hard thump on his ass.

Before he could taunt him again, Steve was already up, moving against Bucky to try and restrain his arms.

“You son of a bitch,” Steve ground out. His eyes were furiously, beautifully blue. “Fighting just as dirty as I thought you would.”

“You—” But whatever Bucky was going to say was lost when Steve pressed forward and he felt something rock hard grind into his hip. Bucky’s words cut off and mangled into some sort of a groan, his cock springing to attention. He found his voice. “You fucking bastard, getting off on this.”

“You must be looking in a mirror then.” Steve’s voice rumbled against Bucky’s ear, and he went weak in the knees. _Gods._ He was grinding back against Steve like a stripling, his face burning and his blood boiling in anger.

His skin danced with heat and his cock threatened to go up in flames.

Steve pinned him to the wall once again, the stone rough against his back through the tapestry. Bucky gripped Steve’s arms like a lifeline, holding so tight he was sure there’d be bruises. Steve didn’t seem to care. He pushed up against Bucky until Bucky wasn’t sure whose breathing he heard in his ears, wasn’t sure whose racing heartbeat was thumping in his chest.

Steve’s hand was on the lacing of his breeches, tugging and untying, tearing fabric out of the way and, _oh_ , Bucky groaned again when his cock fell free from its bindings, and Steve wrapped his long, callused fingers over it. He pressed their erections together and pumped until Bucky was shouting.

Steve came first, jerking forward and pushing Bucky harder against the wall as he covered his hand and Bucky’s cock with his spend. Bucky whimpered, thrusting back into Steve’s cum-slicked hand and coming a moment later with a violent heave. He leaned against the wall, blinking, wondering what in the seven hells had just happened.

As quickly as the excitement had built, it faded. It rushed out of his bones until he was just staring at Steve, who was standing with his hand covered in their mingling cum. Steve met Bucky’s eyes and cleaned his hand with his tongue before spitting the whole mess to the ground, defying Bucky to react.

“Get. Out.” Bucky's voice lacked the ice he’d intended to speak with.

Steve, the gods-be-damned shit-eating _bastard_ , smirked as he tucked himself back into his pants and adjusted his shirt. “Good talking to you about your family.”

He spun on his heel and left Bucky against the wall, pants still undone and cock softening in the cold air of the fireless room.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve heaved a giant breath as he left the room at a near run, sending a plea for the gods to give him strength.

It took every bit of his self-control to not turn around and go marching back to give James another piece of his mind. He didn’t stop to think about what that entailed. He didn’t let up his marching pace until he was back in the relative safety of his own rooms. A servant had started a fire to warm up the room, but Steve wanted to cool off. He didn’t dare wander the castle to a cooler space on his own though, not yet.

He didn’t hold any illusions—he knew Odin was keeping him in a beautiful, gilded prison. There were no overt guards, but there was to be no leaving until he was married off. Married off to the idiot who invited him back to his room so they could, what? Argue? Fuck? All he knew was when James’s eyes had burned so brightly, he couldn’t stop himself from touching him.

And when James had responded with those noises, there wasn’t a chance in hell Steve would have stopped.

Steve stripped out of his clothes. His pants were stained, and his shirt was sweaty. He threw them in the corner of the room and climbed into the bed in the middle of the bedchamber. He didn’t bother to pull up the covers, letting the cool air from the tiny window near the head of the bed circulate with the warm air in his room to settle him.

After several minutes of brooding over how nicely that cock had fit in his hand, over how much he did _(no, didn’t!)_ want to do that again, he finally drifted off to sleep. He slept better than he had for the past week.

 

~ ★ ~


	3. Chapter 3

The hunting horn sounded, and Bucky closed his legs around Aric’s sides, urging the horse forward. He fell in line behind Thor, who sat on his own chestnut courser. Steve rode in stone cold silence next to him. In front of everyone was King Odin himself, riding on a red roan courser that blended into the forest as well as King Odin’s hunting cloak, a dark green embroidered with gold thread.

They rode into the forest, following Mar the huntmaster’s bloodhounds. Bucky noted that the lead hound, Thunder, was nearly silent as he ran through the woods. He was on the trail of the wild boar that Mar had been tracking since last evening in preparation for the day’s grand hunt.

Bucky let Aric maneuver on his own, but kept his hands close to the reins, ready to guide if needed. In addition to his ever present claymore and dirks, he had a bow and quiver strapped on his back, full of red and gray fletched arrows. He also kind of wished that Clint was there, too. Bucky would freely admit that Clint was a better shot three times out of five.

In front of him, Steve stepped his horse across a small stream without a whisper of sound, and Bucky scowled. Not to mention that Clint occasionally made a sound when they hunted, a reminder that he was human and not some sort of perfect blond hunting god. Bucky was almost positive the scowl on his face would be rendered permanent by the end of this farce. He refused to think about how much he enjoyed watching Steve’s shoulders while he rode.

Thunder paused up ahead, sniffing along the stream, and cocking his head. Mar nodded and sent out a few more of his hounds to pick up the trail from farther downstream. The group stopped and waited quietly, the air filled with the excitement of the hunt.

Bucky studied the rest of the riders. Lord Maxwell of House Revenar was shifting in his saddle, craning his neck for a better view from behind Thor— he was a loyal Rogers supporter who kept his dark hair long and scraggly. Lord Maxwell kept his horse as far from Aric as he could, Bucky noted with some satisfaction.

Lord Rodney of House Whitley was taking a long drink from a wineskin. The Whitleys had provided excellent support to the Barnes family, and Bucky wasn’t surprised to see Rodney had been trying to stay close to him. Bucky didn’t recognize the last two riders, though they had been formally introduced earlier that morning. They sat calm in their saddles, overconfident. Perhaps it was their first boar hunt. If they thought a boar would go down as easily as a hart, they would have an unpleasant realization today.

Bucky checked his quiver again. He knew full well the damage an enraged boar could do on its way to death.

“Ho,” called Mar softly, breaking the nervous energy of the group as his dogs returned. Thunder turned to the scent of the boar once again. The dogs darted ahead, and the riders followed.

Steve hadn’t spoken one word to Bucky since that moment together in Bucky’s rooms a few days past, and Bucky didn’t mind at all. He just wished Steve didn’t look so damned smug about it every time their eyes met.

Bucky cleared his mind. He had more important thoughts to contend with. Like the flames. He didn’t put much stock in the fire dreams his mother and sister relied on. They claimed that the visions were sent from prophets of the fire god himself. Bucky would believe it when R’hllor himself was in front of him. But that morning, he had seen a vision in the fireplace in his room, a swirl of flames and ash that spoke of a knife and an attempt on someone’s life. While he might not _believe_ in it, it couldn’t hurt to keep his eyes open.

As they followed after Thunder, Bucky considered the other riders again. Would the two green Lordlings be out for blood? No, they had no stake in the game and everything little thing they owned to lose. Bucky watched Lord Rodney take another sip from the wineskin as he rode. His position was stable, he had nothing to gain and too much to lose.

Lord Maxwell was riding beside Steve now, stealing little glances when he thought no one was watching. Maybe he was going to target Steve in an assassination attempt and do Bucky a damned favor. With a pause and another glance toward Steve, who was now following behind Loki with care, Bucky resisted the urge to glower.

No, Bucky was fairly certain that his vision was telling him to protect the royal family. Having the royal well being on his hands rubbed him the wrong way. Those gods-be-damned flames were more trouble than they were worth.

The forest rushed by, dark green and brown. Birds called the occasional warning across the trees when the horses cracked a twig or rustled the fallen leaves. The air sat around them, humid for midday. It was warm, which meant Bucky didn’t have to see Steve in his gods-be-damned fur-lined cloak. That was great, because if he wasn’t thinking about Steve in his cloak, he couldn’t think about Steve wearing nothing but his cloak.

Sudden crashing reverberated through the forest, too loud and in too many places. The hunting party snapped to high alert as Mar listened for his hounds, placing the barks and howls that echoed back to them from between the trees and thick underbrush.

“Gods damn it,” he muttered, tracking prints in the dirt. “There’s two boars.”

King Odin didn’t hesitate as he swept to the left, following Thunder’s path and giving commands. “Thor, Loki. Take the others and bring down the second boar. Barnes. Rogers. To me.” He urged his courser deeper into the forest as the bird calls and peaceful rustle of the stream were replaced by the hounds growling and yapping, wild snorting and crashing from the boars, and the thunder of hooves stamping the dirt and underbrush as the groups split up.

“Sire—your bow—” Mar was holding out the royal bow, which was supposed to be presented to the King just before the kill.

“Bring it to Thor!” King Odin’s command was brusque and Mar saluted, reining his horse around and whirling across the forest, finding paths through the underbrush with ease to catch up with Thor and Loki, who had just ridden out of sight.

Bucky cursed as he watched the other riders follow Thor and Loki. How could he watch the Princes and the King if they weren’t together? He caught Steve’s eye as they began to ride after the King and slowed to a stop in front of him.

“Too much action for you?” Steve’s voice could freeze a fire.

Anger rose like smoke in his chest, and Bucky pushed it away to concentrate on the problem at hand. He couldn’t ride to two places. He had to put his trust in Steve. Steve’s family might have been angling for the Throne, but _Steve_ did what was expected of him. As a guest of the King, what was expected of him was to protect the royal family.

“The Princes are in danger.” Bucky gestured as he veered off the path to follow Mar. “There was a rumor this morning that there would be an attempt on their lives.”

Steve paused, pursing his lips and watching Bucky closely. Maybe he saw the intensity of the fire in Bucky’s eyes, because he nodded. “And you wish to protect them?”

“Yes. But it could be the King who is in danger. The rumor wasn’t completely clear.” Bucky grunted, hoping Steve wouldn’t ask for more details. They were running out of time, and now both the King and the Princes were out of his direct line of sight.  

“I’ll follow the Princes.” Steve turned and his horse cut a path through the underbrush, towards one set of barking and squealing and shouting.

Boar hunting was dangerous enough with one boar, gods damn it, and now there were two. Bucky was falling farther away from the King. He leaned forward, urging Aric to move faster until they caught up to the King, who had already reached the clearing with the boar.

Bucky burst out of the woods on one side of the clearing and saw Thunder and another hound working the boar, taking turns nipping at its hind and side. The boar was loud and amazingly agile for its size, bucking this way and that, trying to charge at the dogs who danced just out of reach each time.

There was the King on the other side of the clearing. Bucky saw a flash of gray horse and dark-clothed rider as someone charged out of the forest from the north, a hood drawn over his head and a cloth over most of his face. Bucky didn’t stop to think; he prodded Aric sharply across the clearing, leaping over the dogs and boar and drawing his sword to parry a knife heading towards the King’s midsection.

The rider dropped the knife and stumbled back for a moment before recovering and deftly changing direction, heading away from both boars. Bucky was about to give chase when he remembered he had the damn hunting bow and the King didn’t have anything but his sword. He turned, riding in front of the King, sheathing his sword and pulling the bow around, drawing up an arrow as quickly as he could while hoping that Steve could handle the rider if he headed towards the Princes.

Bucky lined up the shot and fired, his aim true. The boar squealed in anger and pain, kicking out its back legs and turning in a circle, determined to bring something, anything, down with it. It snorted, stamping a foot and turning towards the King.

_Twing._

Bucky’s second arrow hit. The boar stumbled again, still moving forward and brandishing its tusks towards the King, who had the sense to back his horse up and try to put a tree between them while still looking over his shoulder for the would-be assassin.

“Gods-be-damned boars! They never know when to quit!” Bucky’s breath came heavy, but his hands were steady as he quickly nocked another arrow.

Between the third arrow and the hounds on the massive beast’s heels, it finally fell to the ground. Bucky heaved a sigh of relief, his arms going limp for a moment before he drew his sword and advanced on the hopefully dead animal. The dogs seemed satisfied that the boar was well and truly dead and trotted over to sit at the King’s feet. Thunder looked at Bucky, impatient and waiting for his reward.

“Sorry boy, but I’m not going to be able to carve this by myself.” Bucky glanced at King Odin, realizing that he should have deferred to his rank. He stopped and turned, keeping one eye on the kill, just in case it decided it wasn’t dead, and another eye beyond the king, in case the assassin looped around in the chaos. Bucky bowed. “Begging your pardon, your Majesty. What would you have me do?”

King Odin studied Bucky, looking at him as though he was seeing him for the first time. Or perhaps he now saw Bucky as a capable ally. Either way, Bucky stood as tall and still as he could, vowing not to break under the scrutiny.

“Your fast actions kept us both alive,” King Odin noted. He picked up the knife the attacker had dropped, and wrapped it in a swath of fabric before securing it to his saddle. “I do recall ordering Sir Steven to accompany me. Has he been waylaid?”

Bucky ducked his head in an apologetic bob. “Your Highness, I sent him to the other hunt. I had— I had a feeling that someone was trying to use the confusion to attack you or the Princes. I didn’t know which.”

“So you sent your mortal enemy to protect my sons?” The King’s voice was dry, and Bucky wanted to squirm under his unyielding gaze.

“My enemy, yes, Your Majesty.” Bucky took a deep breath, forcing himself to spit out the next words. “But that doesn’t make him the throne’s enemy.”

King Odin pursed his lips, but that was the extent of his reaction. He nodded. “Then let’s not waste any more time here. We ride to make sure my sons are safe.”

Thunder and the other dogs seemed to understand to stay with the boar, so Bucky mounted back up and followed the King through the trees.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve patrolled the clearing with Raynor, Lord Maxwell following behind him like a shadow.

“I was sorry to hear the news of your engagement to Barnes. He’s an unfortunate match and not suited to you at all.”

That got a bit of a smile from Steve, and Maxwell mirrored it as he watched where Steve guided his horse and followed, making certain no one would break through the clearing unannounced.

“You don’t really intend for the fighting to stop, do you?” Maxwell asked as they continued the patrol.

“It will have to.” Steve wasn’t convinced it would truly end, but he wasn’t about to speak that thought out loud with the Princes near.

Maxwell considered Steve’s answer. “I honestly can’t imagine giving up the cause. It’s been my life since Brightglass. And Barnes is completely unfit to be your husband.”

Steve sighed. He agreed, but the way Maxwell laid it all out sat heavy on his shoulders.

The barking hounds in the middle of the clearing kept the boar distracted while Thor shot it with several well-placed arrows. Steve shook off the thoughts of the upcoming wedding and continued to watch the clearing.

Frustration crept around his chest. Why had he jumped to help out the moment James said there was a _rumor_ that someone would try to assassinate the Princes? What if it had been a ruse? In that case, he had given James a chance to be alone with the King to perform that very assassination. Steve considered that perhaps he was a fool.

Just the same, he didn’t let his guard down, working with Maxwell to keep the perimeter clear until the boar was down and incapable of goring anyone.

Nothing suspicious shifted in the trees and once the dogs calmed, the only sounds were the birds singing and the hunting party working on the boar.

One bird squawked as James and the King trampled through the underbrush and burst into the clearing. The King’s gaze went immediately to his sons, then to the downed boar, then to the rest of the party.

Mar, who had begun preparations to fix the boar to bring it back with them, stopped and bowed. “Your Majesty. It is a blessing to see you are well.”

“The boar would have to bring more than one friend to bring me down,” King Odin stated flatly.

Steve’s gaze snapped over to James, and James nodded once. So had there been an assassination attempt? Clearly, the King was unharmed. Had he been in danger, or had James merely wanted Steve to think so? Steve would have to demand answers when they were alone.

His belly warmed right up at the thought of being alone with James, and he frowned. He didn’t have time for distractions, not with the King’s life possibly on the line—and with James a possible enemy not just to his House, but to the throne. Steve blew out a breath; James had the opportunity to take down the King and make it look like the boar did it. No one would have thought twice. So did that prove his innocence?

It was a lot to mull over. When they returned to the castle in the evening to cheers and a hot meal, Steve was still deep in thought as he sat at the high table with the King and the Princes.

“I said, _thank you._ ”

Was that James talking to him? Steve blinked as he looked over.

It was. James leaned over from his spot next to the King as the Champion of the Hunt and whispered the words just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve took a deep drink from his wine cup before replying, giving himself plenty of time to prepare a calm answer. It didn’t quite work, but at least he was able to keep his voice level and quiet. “Thank you for what? Giving you a chance to be alone with the King and an opportunity to take him down if you had wanted? Gods, I was a _fool_ for listening to you and rushing off to protect the Princes from a boar that was well handled by the Huntmaster’s hounds.”

James’s eyes flashed with the fury of a newly kindled fire, and Steve bit back another volley of words, including an apology that sprung up on his lips unspoken. It was as though that fire unleashed something deep inside him, and the thrill of the hunt rushed back through his body, preparing him for another fight.

But they couldn’t fight, not in public. Not with people watching and hoping for it. And they couldn’t fight in private, either. The thought brought heat to his face and a surge of _want_ through his body, and Steve took another gulp of wine while he waited for James to prepare some sort of reply.  

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky grumbled at his soup, annoyed that Steve had managed to take his offer of thanks and start another fight.

King Odin had declared the feast of the evening in Bucky’s name for his prowess against the boar. He didn’t mention anything about the attempt on his life. The victory of being named Champion over Steve felt hollow somehow, even as Bucky saw his family at their spot in the hall looking up at him with pride in their eyes. They had arrived earlier during the hunt to prepare for tomorrow’s tournament and ceremony.

The hall was crammed with at least four more tables jammed end to end and filled with families from the far reaches of the Kingdom who’d arrived for the tournament and wedding festival. There was even a Wakandan envoy sitting at the elevated side table, two women and a man with a fierce-looking spearwoman standing guard behind them. They were at the table with the other honored guests, the Starks and the Banners.

Bucky didn’t appreciate being paraded in front of the King’s visitors like a prized bull. At least it kept his mind off of Steve, who was doing his best impression of a block of ice any time Bucky glanced at him. But whenever Thor spoke, Steve responded warmly, which had Bucky a little … jealous. Jealous and convinced he was suffering a bout of madness.

After all, what defined insanity better than the fact that he was hoping he could provoke Steve to storm out, so that he could follow him? And if it ended up with one of them against the wall again, was that really such a bad thing?

Bucky took a sip of wine. He’d taken down a wild boar and foiled an assassination attempt against the King today; he didn’t need Steve to prove his worth. He watched Steve’s fingers wrap around the stem of his goblet and all thoughts of boars and assassinations fled his mind. Yeah, he wanted those fingers around his cock again. He let out a breath, willing his thoughts back to anything else.

With some effort, he focused on who wanted the King dead. That wasn’t an easy question. Any number of Houses might think they could profit from the King being replaced. One of the Princes might want to hasten their own coronation. The Rogers family could be trying to get out of the marriage and secure a more direct line to the throne without implicating Steve.

Bucky growled. The King had been there; let him set his Royal Inquisitors on asking the questions and examining the knife. They’d be able to do more than he would.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve heard James growling at his dinner plate, and the deep, throaty noise had his face burning in a heartbeat. The next heartbeat brought a rise in his anger, and he glared at the back of James’s head as he turned to the King. James’s hair was bound back in its ever-present braid. Those few escaped wisps of hair around his face framed those gods-be-damned cheekbones and Steve found himself wondering what his lips might taste like.

That was dangerous ground to tread. He forced himself to ignore the curve of James’s lips around his goblet, ignore the way he fingered each piece of food as he brought it to his mouth, those lips working around each bite.

Steve shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable with an extremely inappropriate erection.

To his side, Thor said something about the hunt, and Steve quite nearly jumped at the opportunity to tear his eyes off of James.

“Did you get a chance to look over the second boar?”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “The one James and the King downed? No.”

“Your soon-to-be husband is a very good shot.” Thor nodded, as though pleased with this information. “I’ll be honest. I had some doubts that this union would work, but if you two can get over your—” Thor paused, casting around for a polite word for “mutual hatred”, and Steve sighed.

“It will work in the sense that we are both ready and willing to prove ourselves loyal to the throne.” James spoke up, and Steve turned to him in disbelief. He was almost distracted enough to forget to glare.

“Good.” Thor’s grin was nearer to sunlight than the sun itself.

“Dear brother.” Loki looked over, holding his knife like a dagger. “Are you bothering the couple while they should be mooning over each other?” His grin was closer to feral. “Feeding each other morsels from their plates, laughing over every word the other says?”

James scowled, and Steve bit back the retort that rose up. It seemed no matter how he tried to play it, he would be entertainment. But at least his erection was gone.

Steve measured the rest of the feast in cups of wine, ignoring everything else, though he did catch his mother’s eyes once and smiled at her. She looked at him and then glanced at James before shaking her head. But she smiled back, and he remembered what he’d overheard the night before he left for Asgard.

By the time he was heading back to his quarters for the night, he was already mired in thoughts of James. Imagining those lips against his skin, those fingers wrapped around his cock—Steve's chest was flushed down to his stomach as he took off his formal uniform, courtesy of the King’s personal tailor.

He climbed into the bed, determined to fall asleep by sheer force of will. The soft linen bedding teased his over-sensitive skin and he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. He pushed the blankets down to let the cool evening air rush over his skin. He shivered, the sensation doing nothing to discourage his erection. It did nothing to halt the memory of the moments he and James had been alone, his fingers fitting around both their cocks and the absolute satisfaction that had settled in his body after he came.

Steve’s breathing was loud enough to fill the bedroom, and he growled, pushing the blankets completely off and dressing in simple linens, a single thought in his mind: _James_.

Before he could change his mind, he stalked out into the hallway and padded down the stone floor to the set of rooms he’d sworn he wouldn’t return to. He raised his hand to pound on the door, then decided with his last shred of rationality that it would be better to not make a lot of noise in the hallway. Why risk sending an overly concerned guard their way? He pushed the door open without so much as a warning tap and barged into the James's rooms.

A flash of silver and wood hurtled end over end past his head, sinking into the wood of the door behind him with a sharp thud.

“The hell are you doing? Trying to take out my eye?” Steve looked at the knife and then touched his hair once, as though afraid to find part of it cut off.

James appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, completely naked and holding another knife. “If I wanted to take out your eye, I would have done so. That was just a warning.”

Steve’s mouth went dry, his anger failing him. Yeah, he had seen James partially naked before, but it didn’t compare to the way he was standing there, fingers wrapped around a knife, every lean muscle in his body tensed. The lack of clothes didn’t seem to matter to him. He looked as ready to attack as if he had been fully outfitted in plate.

“Why in the hells did you come here? I thought I was very clear last time when I told you to get out.” James wore his glare like a towering shield. He raised the knife and drew back his arm, and Steve instinctively moved forward.

“Could you refrain from stabbing me for five seconds? Or do you still have an urge to knife someone since you weren’t able to attack the King today?” Steve snarled the words, but his cock was making a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between them.

James noticed; the thin cloth of Steve’s pants did little to hide it. “So you’re going to come here to my rooms and hurl insults at me?” He tossed the knife behind him. It clattered on the ground and he set his glare back on Steve. “Continue to insinuate that I am trying to commit _high treason_?” His piercing, darkened eyes set Steve on fire. His skin started to burn under the blaze of that barely repressed rage. “I’d be well within my rights to make sure my next knife isn’t just a _warning_.”

Steve hadn’t thought through his plan. He’d acted on an inability to sleep and a dick that insisted James was the best sleeping aid he knew of. He realized James had tossed down his only weapon, unless he was hiding another in his braid. Steve had to swallow his pride if he wanted to get what he came for.

“Bah. I’m sorry.” Steve’s words sounded like sand rubbing against skin, betraying his lingering anger. He tried again. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to get on your gods-be-damned knees and put your mouth on my dick.”

The words hit Steve sharper than any broadsword cut, and he near fell onto his knees in front of James, his thoughts jumping between _gods, I hate him,_ and _gods, yes, fuck my mouth with your cock._

 

~ ★ ~

 

“...put your mouth on my dick.” The words threw themselves out of Bucky’s mouth before he knew what he was saying, but even as he strode into the sitting room to properly throw Steve out, Steve got to his knees in front of him as if his words had compelled him to obey.

And the sight of Steve looking up at him from underneath beautiful blonde eyelashes, with an expression somewhere between need and icy anger had him more than half hard, warmth racing to his groin at a marching pace.

Steve inched forward on his knees, put his hands on the wall on either side of Bucky’s hips and took his cock into his mouth. He swallowed around it until they were pressed together so closely that Steve’s nose was buried in the thatch of dark curls at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s knees went weak and threatened to give out. Apparently, he could handle a wild boar, but not Steve’s mouth. He leaned against the wall, remembering exactly how Steve had pressed him up against the opposite wall of the room four days ago. That sent a spark of lightning down his spine and he groaned, trying to reach down and thread his fingers through Steve’s long hair.

Before he could get a good grip, Steve had eased off of his cock, and Bucky whimpered.

“If you’re going to command me around, Lordling, you’d better be able to follow through with your intentions,” Steve spat out. His lips were swollen, his voice wrecked as he added, “So are you going to fuck my mouth or are you going to lean against the wall like you’ve never done this before?”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with fury, and he grunted as he snapped his hips forward, all but jamming his cock into Steve’s open mouth. Steve flinched once around it, his teeth just barely scraping over Bucky’s cock. Steve started swallowing until his cheeks hollowed out and then he relaxed his jaw, letting Bucky use his mouth like he owned it, and _oh gods_ , that realization flooded through Bucky’s body like a powerful summer storm, his skin vibrating with need.

He wound his hands in Steve’s hair and held him in place, fucking his mouth until Steve was groaning and whimpering and sucking violent breaths in through his nose. Steve’s hands tightened around Bucky’s hips, fingers digging into his skin. The breeze from the small window wafted over them and Bucky groaned, his back and belly tensing as he thrust, erratic, about to come apart in Steve’s mouth.

 

~ ★ ~

 

James moaned, a vibration of sound that rang in Steve’s ears, wrapped itself around Steve’s body, had him thrusting blindly at James's leg, at  _anything_ to relieve the aching throb of his cock. Steve dropped a hand to his lap, fisting himself through the fabric.

The part of his mind crying out that _he’s the enemy! You should hate him, not kneel before him_ was easily overcome by the heft of _his enemy’s_ cock on his tongue, sliding deeper and deeper in his mouth until James jerked back out, coming with a gasp and striping Steve’s face with his spend.

James put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, but Steve barely noticed, too close to his own orgasm to do anything but revel in the warmth pooling in his groin, a heated bit of light starting deep inside him and moving out in waves down to his fingers, down to his toes. He choked out a cry as he came in his pants, eyes closed and a glow like a sunset settling in his chest.

Steve heard a breath above him. His eyes snapped open and the sunset scattered.

He had let James use him. The fire of his anger rekindled in his chest as he ignored the other voice in his head telling him to ask James to do it again, to mark every inch of his skin with his essence.

Steve lifted his hand to his face, swiping at the cum that had congealed on his skin. It stuck to his fingers, to his cheek, to the stubble on his chin.

James caught his eye and for a moment, Steve swore he saw a hint of a grin try to surface before being beaten down under that ever-present scowl. “Why do you insist on trying to spread my seed on every surface in this gods-be-damned room? Do you think to try to grow babies on the walls? Because I assure you, that’s not how babies work.” He pushed his hands off of Steve’s shoulders, disappeared into the bedroom, and reappeared a moment later with a wet rag. He threw it at Steve.

Steve caught it, water dripping onto his pants and shirt as he wiped his face. “Thanks for the lesson.” He hurled it back at James, who caught it with a growl.

“Just go!” James’s chest heaved as he threw up his hands. He was still perfectly, gloriously naked.

Steve’s belly swooped, and he stood, desperate to prevent James from seeing the effect he had on him. His pants, wet from water and cum, clung to every line of his dick. Giving James the last word, Steve grunted and turned on his heel in a tactical retreat.

Back in his own room, he did not sleep well. He wrapped himself up in the bed sheets as he turned over and over, well aware that tomorrow, he’d face James in a duel, fully armed and fully armoured.

And why did that make his heart beat faster, his cock come to attention, his chest constrict like there was a snake wrapping around his body?

 

 

~ ★ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

“You haven’t stabbed him? Not even once?” Natasha sounded almost disappointed as she tested the heft of one of Bucky’s knives, throwing it against the wall at a makeshift target. It hit dead center, and she smirked. “Maybe your aim is bad?”

“My aim is excellent,” Bucky grumbled, but he was smiling. He patted his side, feeling for his lucky dagger. The ornamental piece wouldn’t serve for a duel weapon, but he hadn’t lost one wearing it yet. “It’s nice to have someone around to talk to who doesn’t just glare at me.”

Natasha and Clint were with him in the small room he had been provided to prepare for the morning’s duel. Outside, the sounds of the festival on the castle grounds filled the air with shouts and jests, cheers and calls.

“I heard it is in poor taste to kill one’s husband before the wedding ceremony,” Bucky added.

“Yes, generally you wait to put the poison in his cup _after_ you’ve become heir to half his property,” Clint said. They all laughed, and then Clint set a sobering expression on Bucky. “But how have you been, really? I know you were not singing praises about this Steve Rogers.”

“His name. Do you really have to say it like that?” Bucky glanced out the thin stone-cut window, but there wasn’t much to be seen from where they were in the castle. He focused on surveying his armor and weapons once more, turning over his greaves and pulling at the lacing.

“Still unfriendly terms, then.” Clint looked around the room. Even the small space was lavishly decorated; a silk cloth ran the length of the table across the wall. Cornflowers and petunias had been brought in and placed in bowls with gardenias. A tapestry woven with gold and silver hung above it. “Can’t ask for a better place to stay though.”

Bucky nodded. “The rooms they gave me are much nicer than the ones last year when I was simply here for the tournament.” He paused, trying an attempt at humor. “Maybe I should get married more often.” The words sounded dry in his mouth, but Clint and Natasha smiled.

“Husband-to-be or not,” Natasha said, gesturing out to the rest of the castle where Steve was presumably somewhere getting ready, “when you step out in the arena this morning, he’ll be your opponent. And we’re not about to have you lose.”

“I assure you, I’m not about to lose.” The image of Steve on his knees in front of him flashed in his mind and Bucky sat down, the chair hard underneath him. He could almost hear Steve’s moans. “I’ve never wanted to beat him more in my life.”

Clint pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. Natasha nodded, as if she’d expected this. “Last year, you were able to surprise him with a strike to the chest. You were faster than him. I’d put my coin on him having practiced for that, even before this marriage came into play.”

Bucky nodded, leaning forward in the chair to listen and to hide the beginning of an erection. He needed to put on his armor, and soon, so he could find his focus. He tapped his dagger again. He needed all of the luck he could get.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Your mother and I are proud of what you’re doing.” Joseph turned towards Steve, a lack of sleep written in the lines of his face and the darkness under his eyes.

Steve nodded. “Father. I am honored to be here to support the throne.”

Joseph hesitated, before sitting in one of the room’s ornate wooden chairs. Steve’s armorer had just finished getting him in his chainmail and plate. His gorget was adorned with the Rogers family star, and Joseph focused on that as he spoke. “Sometimes doing our duty can seem…distasteful.”

Sarah came in through the open doorway, her hand on her hip. “The short way to put it is that we’re thankful that if we have to sacrifice our son for the King, at least it is not in a casket. I think you can understand that.” She smoothed the silky fabric of her skirt, her blue and silver gown for the festival magnificent and adorned for her role as mother of the groom.

“Yes, mother.” He wouldn’t admit it to himself, let alone his parents, but he truly agreed with them, despite his earlier claims of preferring death.

After all, death didn’t get his dick so hard he couldn’t think of anything except James. Yeah, James pissed him off every time they were within fifty paces of each other, but they were both suffering the King’s punishment.

Steve straightened up, tossing thoughts of James out like old rags as Sarah came over to kiss his cheek. “Good luck in your duel, Steve. I want you to know without a doubt that we are proud of the strength you have shown.”

Joseph nodded and shook Steve’s hand, and then his parents left the room and for a blessed moment, Steve was alone among the decorations, the flowers, the sounds from outside, and the smells wafting up from where the kitchens were in full production mode.

“Winnifred, I don’t think—” Someone’s voice came through the door right before a woman opened the door and let herself in. Her dress was deep red, cut very fashionably, and adorned properly for a mother of the groom.

She had to be James’s mother.

Steve didn’t have a moment more to think on it before she swept up in front of him, taking his hand and inspecting it, while another man—perhaps her husband?—came in the room behind her.

“Steven Rogers.” Winnifred met his eyes, unflinching. “I’ve heard a great deal about you over the years. The man poised to lead House Rogers to greatness. Groomed to be as clever and impartial as the King. Trained in multiple forms of combat, educated in the arts. If we stopped there, I wouldn’t think twice of you marrying my son.”

The unspoken words hung so heavily in the air, Steve expected a fog to form. He waited, glancing back at Winnifred’s husband—George, the head of House Barnes. He was a tall man, and his dark hair was flecked white on the sides and pulled back in a neat braid.

“Riley Smith, Lady Winnifred.” Steve stood, taking his hand from hers, and forcing a curt bow, watching both of them closely for hidden weapons. James had to have gotten that trait from somewhere. “Your family is responsible for his death. I won’t have you judge me from where you stand.”

Winnifred pressed a finger to her lips, something odd dancing at the corners of her eyes, like sorrow for someone she loved. Her voice was firm. “Our houses have taken a great number of good men from each other.”

“I don’t care about a great number of good men. I care about how Sam looks when he stares at the sky. I—”

Sam’s words replayed in his mind: _Have you ever considered that we took someone’s Riley from them?_

“I’ll be thankful for the bloodshed to stop,” Steve said after another long moment. He left a few words unspoken as well, like the fact that this sham of a marriage wasn’t going to stop the bloodshed.

Winnifred nodded her agreement. “We may not come to love you, Steven, but there is a chance yet we can open our arms to you.” She turned to go, George following close behind.

Steve watched their retreating forms and let out a heaving sigh once he was sure they were out of sight. The first horn of the day sounded, announcing the official start of the festival, where King Odin would address the crowd and some preliminary jousting would help work up the crowd. The next horn would announce the duel. Steve rested his hand on his scabbard and waited.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Have you found any leads on our dear father’s attempted murder?” Thor smiled and gave a cheer as two young knights mounted their horses, preparing for the joust.

Loki held no illusions that Thor’s expression would be very different if they were having this conversation in private. The King’s viewing post was as near to private as they would be for most of the day, and there were still eight others in the seats around them. He shook his head, clapping politely as the knights saluted each other from their ends of the field. The knight from House Whitley yanked at the reins of his charger, keeping his lance straight as his horse tried to veer left.

“I’ve had an audience with every weaponsmith and blacksmith here for the festival, which covers us from here to the Eastern coast, brother. Not one of them can identify the blade.”

“They can’t identify it, or they won’t?” Thor turned to look at Loki as the knights began to charge each other, urging their chargers to a gallop.

“No one has given me reason to suspect the latter.” Loki leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers and dropping his voice low. “I’ve been hesitant to approach the Wakandan envoy, but with nothing coming up from our current investigation…”

The knights clashed in the center of the field. Young Knight Whitley managed to score a hit, shattering his lance on his opponent’s shield. The knight from House Revener missed completely. Whitley raised an arm in delight as they rode to the ends of the field to prepare for their next tilt.

“Just asking for their opinion on the matter could be construed as an accusation.” Thor tapped a finger to his chin. “But what other choice do we have? We can’t leave this alone.”

House Whitley was not as lucky in the next tilt, as he was disarmed by a powerful blow and nearly fell off of his charger. He managed to lean forward over his horse’s neck and regained his seat. They would have one final tilt.

“That’s what I figured you would say.” Loki shrugged, nonchalant. “I arranged your meeting with them for after the duel, dear brother.” His grin showed his teeth.

Thor sighed. It was just like Loki to offer him up as a sacrifice. Well, let the Wakandan envoy be annoyed with him; Thor wasn’t particularly interested in starting a reign as King any time soon. His father could—and would—hold on to that position for as many years as he wished to.

On the field below, House Whitley met House Revener in the final tilt. The crowd cried out as Whitley was thrown from his horse, falling on his side with the clunk of plate into the sand.

A hush descended when he didn’t stand up. A few heartbeats later, the Knight stirred and managed to pull himself to a sitting position. He took off his helmet, swaying as he looked up at the crowd and sitting back down while the Knight from House Revener was given a token for winning. Only when all of the jousting posts had been removed did he move, leaving the area wide open for the duel.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky stood ten paces across the field from Steve, hand on his hilt. A breeze wafted through, a welcome bit of fresh air in the middle of the castle grounds. The wide, circular space was surrounded by as many spectators as could crowd themselves into the stands.

The second horn of the morning sounded, and the crowds roared like a charging animal. Everyone stood and cheered, ready to watch House Barnes and House Rogers clash in a final official duel before the they were muzzled by the King.

Odin spoke of the symbolic nature of the duel, about the two Houses elevating themselves above petty warfare and entering a time of peace, but Bucky only heard every third word. He focused on Steve, who had planted his feet on the ground as though he would take root.

Standing against the wind, Steve rose like a tree in his armor, drawing his sword in a salute when Odin gave the first signal. Bucky hadn’t seen him naked, not completely, but he’d wager that Steve had him by about twenty pounds of muscle.

If Bucky could strike fast enough, strength wouldn’t matter. He drew his sword, and returned Steve’s gesture. The breeze gusted through, drawing up a swirl of dust.

On the second signal, they fell into their stances. Steve drew back defensively, and Bucky leaned into his favorite offensive pattern, hoping to convince Steve that he was overconfident and ready to rush in.

The third signal rang out and the crowd jeered, goading them to make a move. Bucky blocked out the noise. It all ran together in a buzz around him as he kept his focus on Steve, who was barely moving except to keep his sword pointing towards him. Bucky began to circle around, looking for an opening.

He went in with a quick, showy jab, both to appease the crowd and to attempt an early blow. Steve stepped aside, parrying the blade without moving in for a counterattack.

They circled again, and Bucky kept darting in for a quick thrust. He aimed high, then low, then twice near the middle, doing his best to keep Steve guessing.

“Are we dueling?” called Steve, his voice threading around the calls of the crowd. “Or are we dancing?”

Bucky grinned as he adjusted his stance, forcing Steve to follow. Holding his sword as comfortably as some would hold their children, he waited for the familiar rush of anger when Steve taunted him. It didn’t come.

Without anger to cloud his judgement, Bucky lunged forward, thrusting out his sword with as much speed as he could manage. Steve’s eyes widened as he spun his sword around, bringing his blade to parry. Bucky’s grin grew as he shrugged off the weak parry and thrust again, lower, forcing Steve to step off-balance to block again.

Natasha had been convinced that Steve would be prepared for this, but Bucky started to realize the Steve still wasn’t quite fast enough. If he could keep pressing the attack, it was only a matter of time before he’d wear Steve down.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve stepped back, holding his sword across his body and trying to retreat without missing his step in the grass and dirt. James had taken a few practice jabs before going all out, and he _was_ a formidable opponent. Sparring with Sam might have helped Steve practice against a barrage of blows, but James took that and added a lightness on his feet that left Steve a quarter step behind.

Steve had to do something different if he wanted to come out on top.

James lunged again, and Steve met him halfway, dropping down and rolling to the side. He sprung up and swung his sword around. With a curse, James met his blade, and Steve grunted. James was too fast.

The crowd around them cheered, and it was impossible to hear whose name they favored. Did they have a favorite or were they just there to watch one of them fail? Steve tossed the thoughts out of his mind, focusing on James’s blade. He’d worry about court politics later.

Steve threw out a powerful thrust, and James had his sword ready for the parry, grunting at the impact. Hoping to hear that lovely noise once more, Steve reared back. He attacked, striking forward with all his strength, and again, James got his blade up with time to spare. James braced himself for the impact as Steve followed through with everything he had.

James stumbled back a half step, heaving out a breath. He whipped his sword across his body, ready to defend himself while he reset his stance.

Steve cursed. His strength was good, but he needed to move faster somehow.

Around them, the crowd roared. The sound pulsed in Steve’s ears, reminding him that he’d never be more alive than when he was behind his sword.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky gasped for breath, trying to circle out of Steve’s warpath. Steve attacked with everything he had, and Bucky was finding out exactly how much force Steve was capable of.

He barely dodged another blow, and spun on his foot, pressing in towards Steve instead of moving back. There wasn’t enough room to generate a good cut, and Steve deflected it off his vambrace before pushing Bucky back, a hard shove that had him stumbling off balance.

Steve reared, ready to knock him down to the ground with a heavy blow, so Bucky did the work for him, hitting the ground and rolling, springing to his feet again. It was clumsy and unfamiliar, his plate rubbing rough against his body, but it worked, giving Bucky enough time to get back into position. Out of Steve’s reach.

They circled each other again. Steve wasn’t visibly panting, didn’t seem tired despite the sheer amount of force he had been attacking with. Bucky scowled, worry sprouting that he might not be able to tire Steve out.

“I bested you last year and I’ll do the same again,” he called out, playing that he wasn’t tired in the least. Let two play at Steve’s game.

Steve said nothing except to grunt. A spark of hope flared in Bucky’s chest at the lack of words. Maybe he _was_ starting to wear him down after all.

The heavy impacts had every part of Bucky’s body hurting, and the constant movement didn’t help. The longer he stood there pretending he could do this all morning, the more he knew it wasn’t true. His legs were going to freeze up on him and as much as he had the speed to continue blocking whatever Steve threw at him, his arms wouldn’t be able to match that strength forever. He drew in deep, heavy breaths, shaking his sore muscles. He had to keep the circling going for as long as he dared.

The crowd was calling for blood, calling for action, calling for an end to both of the Houses. Bucky couldn’t let his family down, not in front of the Kingdom.

His breath renewed, Bucky set his shoulders. If it was the wrong read of the situation, he was would find out quick. He charged forward, aiming to the right until the absolute last moment, his arms moving in a blur as he switched sides, and swept his sword out. He caught Steve in the midsection and Steve winced, the noise muted inside his armor.

Another quick movement backed by desperation and a shout of a prayer, and Bucky had Steve on his knees. Bucky drew back his sword, pointing it at Steve’s throat.

“Do you yield?” he asked, breathless.

All he could picture was Steve on his knees sucking his cock. He imagined urging Steve on with the flat edge of the sword. Warmth rushed to his groin, leaving him with a growing erection in front of the entire Kingdom, and thankful for his armor.

Was Steve’s face that red before? Or was he _blushing_ too _?_ Did he feel the same way Bucky did? There was no way to see through his plate.

Bucky allowed a smirk, dropping his voice lower. “I like it when you’re on your knees for me.”

There wasn’t a chance that Steve could hear it over the screaming crowd. They were chanting Bucky’s name now, and it was just as good as drinking a glass of honeyed mead. He had won. He had bested the boar on the hunt, and he had beaten Steve.

Steve’s eyes promised death as he dropped his sword to the ground.

“I yield,” he called, his voice ironclad as he played his part.

Bucky flipped his braid over his shoulder and sheathed his sword.

He didn’t have time to think about how tonight would be their wedding night because the crowd had spilled down to the dueling field and people started rushing them. Clint pounded on his back and whooped. Someone came over to help Steve to his feet and the two of them disappeared into the crowd as someone else slipped a trinket in Bucky’s hand. He held it high above his head, the crowd cheering for the Barnes family.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The crowd moved on, milling around and celebrating while the next event was being set up. Steve sat heavily on the ground. Sam had sent off the armorer, and Steve was once again in his King-sanctioned military outfit, wearing the King’s colors of gold and red. Somewhere, James was wearing the mirror of the outfit, with green in place of the red.

Somewhere, James’s mother and father weren’t drowning in disgrace because their son lost for the second year in a row.

Steve spat at the ground. He didn’t trust himself to do anything but sit right there and drink water from the cup that Sam had brought him. Sam sat next to him, blessedly silent.

“You can go enjoy the festival if you wish.” Steve winced at the grit in his voice. “I’m sorry. I truly mean that. I’ll just sit here and you needn’t worry that I’ll fail my family yet again.” He sighed.

Someone in the crowd of people called out to Sam, and Sam turned to look. He waved and turned back to Steve. “You’re a competent knight, Steve. James bested you because he’s also competent and played the game better. There’s no shame in an honorable loss.”

Steve wanted to complain that James had no honor, but he saw Sam looking towards the people calling for him. “You are right as always, Sam. Go and enjoy my wedding festival, and I’ll see you at the ceremony, if you still wish to place my wedding mantle?”

Sam smiled. “While I would have wished it to be a happier marriage, yes. Of course I will.”

Steve stood and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you, Sam. You’ve always been the brother I never had.”

With a grin of acknowledgment and a slap on the back, Sam left Steve to join up with his friends. Once he was out of sight, Steve slumped back to the ground.

Steve watched people stream by, laughing and talking. Whenever he had imagined his wedding day, it had never looked like this. He studied the sky. The sun was near to overhead, which meant there were still hours of competitions to go. It meant he should go back to the King’s viewing box and put in an appearance as one of the grooms.

But if James was there, he didn’t trust himself not to punch him.

Still, he made his way through the crowd. He smiled and nodded at the handful of people who congratulated him on a duel well fought and did his best to ignore the people in Barnes red who jeered as he passed by.

He saw the Wakandan envoy, the young princess enjoying the festival with her bodyguards. The princess smiled and waved for him to come over. Steve wracked his mind trying to remember her name. Wakanda was often spoken of as a mythical kingdom in the South, more of a tribe in the mountains than a true kingdom, and fiercely independent. No Midgardian scouts had even been able to find its true location.

“Oh!” she said as Steve came up closer. “You’re not as tall as you looked!”

Steve glanced at her source of comparison, the tall warrior standing by her side. The warrior hefted his staff.

“That’s a fair statement, Princess Shuri,” Steve agreed. She didn’t correct him on her name and he tossed a prayer up to the gods that he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of the envoy.

“Well, let me congratulate you on a duel well-fought,” Shuri said with a smile. “It was different from what I’m used to seeing. For one thing, you two wore a lot more armor.”

“I’m pleased your trip here has been entertaining.” Steve fought the urge to rub at the back of his neck. Exchanging pleasantries with a princess had him on his toes, nervous he might make an unwitting insult.

The male bodyguard tapped his staff to the ground, and Shuri turned to him. “Have you got something to say, M’Baku? It’s not like you to ask my permission to speak.”

M’Baku shrugged. He turned to Steve. “You hesitated. At the end of the duel.”

The cut of his defeat rose anew, and Steve’s hand was halfway to his sword before he realized what he was doing. He stayed his hand. “He moved faster than me.”

“No.” M’Baku glared, as though daring Steve to argue. Steve thought about it for a moment, more than happy to have a reason to fight, but he waited. M’Baku continued, “You thought about blocking the attack from the correct side and then hesitated.”

Steve sighed, recognizing that M’Baku was pointing out his weakness warrior to warrior. Trying to save him from making the same mistake in actual combat. “I can’t go back and change what I’ve done.”

“You can learn, and you will do better.” M’Baku shrugged again as the female bodyguard nodded towards Shuri.

“Come, we must go if you wish to see the next event,” she said.

Shuri nodded, stepping away from the merchant’s booths. “Until next time, Sir Steven!” She waved.

Steve bowed with a smile, watching the group head to their appointed stands for viewing the competitions, a well-shaded box staffed with servants. He continued on to the King’s box.

He managed to keep his smile as he climbed up the steps in the back. Every seat was decorated with silk and tied off with a gold chain. Thor and Loki sat to the right, watching two knights duel with maces. A few advisors sat around the King.

When Steve dipped his head in a bow to the King, James came into view. He sat to the left, and the only empty seat in the box was the one next to him. Steve’s smile fell into a grimace.

“Gods-be-damned,” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t turn tail and run now. He marched over to the seat and sat down as though James didn’t exist. He made a point to avoid so much as breathing in his direction.

Below them, the dueling knights had finished their bout to the cheers of the crowd. The group of archers took their place as pages finished setting up the targets at the far end of the field. As their names were announced, the archers went over to the post one by one.

Steve couldn’t pay attention to the names. He swore he felt James’s breath on his neck, but when he chanced a sideways glance, James was leaning forward to watch the archers. Steve held his tongue. Silence was the best choice for both of them.

At King Odin’s signal, a valet stepped forward to give the signal for the round to begin. Five archers stepped up to their spots, drawing back arrows and letting them fly at the five targets.

An archer with a bracer marked in the bright red of the Barnes insignia looked over to the King’s box and waved towards James. Steve glanced towards the targets. That archer had easily won the first round.

James clapped. “Excellent work, Clint!”

That cheer was the most infuriating noise Steve had heard, possibly in his entire life. Steve couldn’t hold back a frustrated huff, and he heard James turn towards him.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” Steve growled without looking. James turned back to the competition without a word and somehow, that had Steve’s blood heating up in anger just as much as if he’d said anything.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky kept his eyes forward. If he wasn’t looking at Steve, he couldn’t be turned on by him, right? His cock disagreed, vehemently, as images of Steve on his knees ran through his head. Thankfully, the stylish military uniform the King had gifted to Bucky provided adequate covering, especially while he sat, so he’d just have to wait it out.

It took every effort not to turn back to Steve and tell him to stop huffing and puffing. Bucky focused on the archers in front of them. Clint was readying his bow for the next volley, moving with the speed and ease that underlied his status as the Kingdom’s best archer.

Clint’s patient teaching was the reason Bucky had been able to take down the boar.

When Clint hit his next target dead center, Bucky joined in with the crowd’s cheer. The noise of all those voices still couldn’t mask Steve’s grunt of annoyance next to him, and Bucky snapped, turning to Steve. “If you’re going to be a poor loser, you ought to go sulk in the corner and leave us to enjoy the afternoon.”

Steve drew in a great breath, as though he was about to launch into a tirade of his own, but then he breathed out and went back to his best impression of a block of ice, staring through Bucky to the event below. Bucky wanted to throw his hands up in the air.

As he watched the archers prepare for another round, Bucky realized there was just one last competition left until their wedding ceremony. The thought of being married to Steve brought bile up in Bucky’s mouth, and he swallowed. He signaled a servant for a glass of wine. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Steve did the same. Bucky drank the wine in two large gulps, slamming the glass down on the ledge of the box. Steve’s glass, also empty, went next to his a moment later.

Everything felt a little bit better after that. Bucky watched as Clint made three more perfect shots, winning the tournament with ease. Clint held up his hand to the crowd and bowed before the King. He glanced at Steve and then at Bucky. The unspoken words behind Clint’s glance settled on Bucky’s shoulders like stones.

The archery targets were taken down, and several pages worked together to drag in long, thick poles made of young trees. They were maybe twenty feet tall, and took two pages to bring in.  
  
“What’s this?” Bucky asked before chiding himself. Did he expect Steve to supply an answer?

Thor overheard, though, and he turned towards Bucky. “Ah, you noticed we have a new event, yes? Father discovered some of the Houses down to the Southeast playing at this fun little game. They take the poles, and see who can toss them the best.”

“Toss them,” Bucky repeated, dubious. He looked down at the posts again. A handful of men had assembled in the field, testing the weight of the heavy poles. Each tree seemed to be at least the weight of a grown man.

“Oh yes.” Thor grinned. “You get the most points for the straightest throw. The distance doesn’t matter as much, I’m told, but I’d be partial to whoever chucked this the farthest if I were scoring it.”

Loki scoffed next to him. “Which is why you’re not scoring any of these events.”

Bucky turned back to the field, watching as the first man picked up one of the poles. A squire on the field helped him get the pole into an upright position and then backed away until he was completely out of range of the pole. The man swayed underneath it for a moment, attempting to take a step and unable to manage it. He gave up on moving and heaved the pole up and away, doing his best to try to get an arc off of it. The pole wobbled and twisted, falling to the side. The crowd tittered, clearly unimpressed.

A second man, heavyset with gray in his hair, came up next.

“See here now,” Thor called out to Bucky. “This one knows what he’s doing.”

The squire helped the man steady the pole and then backed away again. This man stood up under the post without as much difficulty, balancing out the wobbles with steady arms. He took a few running steps, flinging the tree up into the air. It flipped in the air, landing away from him. He pumped his fists in the air and roared. The crowd cheered him on, much happier with that throw.

Bucky heard another huff from beside him, and he looked over to see Steve shaking his head and standing, vaulting over the side of the King’s viewing box and landing on the ground with steady feet despite the wine he’d been pounding.

He looked back up at the box before walking onto the field. “Your Royal Majesty. If I may take a turn?”

King Odin waved a hand towards the other men. Steve went to join them, and Bucky found himself unable to look away. Steve took a few moments to test the weight of the tree before nodding to the squire. The squire helped keep it upright as Steve dropped to a knee, cupping his hands under the pole. He stood, his chest and arms straining at his uniform.

Bucky swallowed hard as he considered the fact that Steve might rip his shirt from the effort. His dick started to stand at attention.

Steve took a tentative step under the weight of the tree and then, with a deep growl that had Bucky’s dick completely hard, ran forward as though the tree weighed nothing, and catapulted it into the air. It tipped end over end in the air, hitting the ground with a loud thud and falling towards the other end of the field.  

Bucky’s cock strained against his pants, and he shifted in his seat, hoping that everyone in the box was looking at the field and not at his very personal problem.

Steve nodded to the crowd as he panted. He seemed pleased with himself, and Bucky’s chest swelled with pride before he remembered he hated Steve. Still, he clapped politely, reminding himself that his cock was a traitorous bastard, and thankful that he hadn’t come in his pants.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve sucked in another deep breath. The post had been heavy and hard to balance. But the anger and frustration of the morning had helped his focus, and for a moment, it had seemed weightless. Now his arms burned with the effort, and his hands were scratched by the bark, but he felt much better. Tree-throwing to relieve anger. He’d have to remember that one.

He stepped off to the side to let the other men on the field take their turns with the last few trees. When he glanced up at the King’s box, he saw the Officiant next to the King speaking a few words, and the elation that had bloomed in his body wilted.

Right. He was about to be married to his worst enemy.

When the Officiant walked onto the field with Thor at his side, the entirety of the festival crowds quieted. It was a chilling sort of hush broken only by a few children calling out and the squall of a baby. Steve stood at one end of the field, waiting to be called back to the middle. James stood at the other end, too far for Steve to read his expression.

From his viewing box, the King stood and addressed the silence. “Today, we watch House Barnes and House Rogers put aside their petty differences and join together in the most important of unions, that of the marriage between their two children.

“Many of you gathered here have participated in their war. Many of you have lost friends, relatives, and children to these pointless fights. Today, that all will change. Today, we move forward as a fully united kingdom.

“Today, Midgard stands stronger than any foe we could face!”

Steve bowed his head as the crowd thundered. Their noise was loud enough to blot out his thoughts for a blessed moment. Sam came to his side and draped Steve in his wedding mantle with his House colors of blue and silver. He would have reached for another glass of wine if he could. Instead, he looked back up, watching the Officiant in the middle of the field. His mother and father appeared next to him, and Steve grunted his thanks.

He wondered when he’d lost use of his words.

Across the field, he watched James surrounded by his parents and a woman who must have been his sister. She draped his wedding mantle with the Barnes House colors on his shoulders.

Steve tried not to let himself dwell on the fact that James had bested him two years in a row and would now force him to wear the red and gold mantle. Steve could have no sooner done that than disappeared into the earthen ground beneath him.

The Officiant, with the King’s permission, gestured for Steve and Bucky to walk towards him. As they walked, he spoke. “Today, under the watchful eyes of the Gods, we all come together to bear witness to the union of Steven Rogers and James Barnes. Marriage is a bond that is not entered into lightly. Once it is formed, only the grave may sever it.”

Steve stopped in front of the Officiant, only a pace away from James. This close he could see that the officiant’s eyes seemed to glow, the brown shining orange in the sunlight. He closed his eyes for a moment, and remembered his name: Heimdall.

Heimdall paused for a moment longer before turning to face Steve. “Steven of House Rogers. Your values of strength and honor will suit this union well. Please remove your mantle.”

Steve didn’t hesitate to slip the mantle off and hold it. He waited. James’s breath was in his ear again. Heimdall said something else, and James took off his mantle, but all Steve could hear was the whisper of the wind.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“James of House Barnes.” Heimdall turned to look at Bucky, and Bucky was struck by how Heimdall’s gaze seemed to pierce his very soul. He wanted to cross his arms over his chest, to protect his heart, but he stood and listened. “Your values of wisdom and truth will likewise benefit this union. Please remove your mantle.”

Bucky lifted his mantle over his head. His fingers trembled. Despite having nearly a week to consider this moment, now that it was happening, it was rushing by like a flooded stream, and he was just the fish being carried on to a new home.

“James, please place your mantle on Steven’s shoulders.”

Bucky had to step closer to Steve, close enough to feel his breath on his cheek as he reached up and over Steve’s head. Steve, whether on purpose or by instinct, tilted his head to allow James easier reach. His expression remained unreadable.

For a moment, Bucky almost felt like in a different lifetime, they could have fallen for each other. The thought flashed like lightning and was gone. It was impossible. They were too different.

Bucky adjusted the mantle on Steve’s shoulders, his fingers lingering a moment, clinging to a different possibility. He stepped back and turned to Heimdall.

“Thank you. Steven, please place your mantle on James’s shoulders.”

Steve kept his spine straight and his shoulders back as he stepped forward. His breath ghosted against Bucky’s cheek as Bucky leaned in to let Steve drape the mantle over his shoulders. It felt heavier than the one he had given up a minute ago. Steve’s breathing was heavier as he stepped back. Bucky was sure they shared the same indescribable mix of upset, resignation, and quiet fury.

Heimdall gestured for Thor to step forward. Thor pulled out his great battle hammer. With a giant heave, he planted it in the ground before them, sending a shock through the earth. Steve took a breath and put his hand on the hilt of the hammer. A moment later, Bucky placed his hand over Steve’s.

“Thank you.” Heimdall gestured to the crowd. “And now, in front of the King, the Kingdom and the Gods, we have witnessed the exchanging of the mantles, which embodies a promise to support and cherish each other. With their kiss, the bond will be forged over Mjolnir, stronger than any chain, as unbreakable as the best shield.”

That was their cue. Bucky stepped forward again, staring down the hatred in Steve’s eyes. He closed his own, and leaned in.

Steve met him, reluctant but playing his part in front of the Kingdom. Their lips touched, and for a moment, Bucky forgot that he was kissing someone he hated, someone who hated him. For just that instant, he was kissing his husband, binding himself with a brush of lips to another man for the rest of his life. He held on to that kiss for one heartbeat longer.

Then he opened his eyes again, reality setting in as he watched Steve rip his hand from Mjolnir and turn away from him.

He was wearing Steve’s mantle. They were married, but he was most assuredly not in love.

 

 

~ ★ ~


	5. Chapter 5

Their first kiss lingered on Steve’s lips long past the ceremony and into the wedding feast. James offered him a bite from his plate and Steve ate it, doing his best not to glare. He stared off into the distance and hated whoever came up with the custom of the couple sharing their first bite of each dish.

He chewed by instinct, not tasting whatever it was that James had put in his mouth. Steve swallowed, and took another sip of wine. At least that coated his tongue and reminded him that he could taste. He looked around the hall, watching the people watch him. His fork felt heavy in his hand, so he put it down.

The tables were purposely mixed between the factions, and Sam was sitting with some supporters of House Barnes. He was talking to the archer with blonde hair—Clint—and a woman with red curls pinned up on her head, exposing her neck. Steve saw the way she kept an eye on the room and knew she wasn’t nearly as exposed as she looked. He realized that she must be Natasha, the mistress of information for the Barnes family.

His mother and father were sitting across from Winnifred and George. His father started the evening with a stock-straight spine, but seemed to ease into the conversations as the night wore on. His mother talked to Winnifred with an open easiness that felt like another stone on Steve’s chest. He had to remind himself that everyone was pretending in one way or another. No one was themselves at court. But he remembered how hopeful his mother had been that night in the study, and it hurt.

At the high table behind him and James, King Odin was sharing a moment with his sons, telling some sort of joke that had Loki grinning and Thor booming laughter. Frigga smiled as she gently chided Odin. How much of that was for show too? Steve sipped at his wine, and it spread in his mouth, bitter.

The servants removed their dishes and put down new plates. Steve stabbed whatever green vegetable was on his plate and pushed the fork in James’s direction without turning to look.

“Ouch.” James sounded frustrated. “Could you at least look at me when you try to stab me?”

Every time Steve looked at James, he found himself distracted by his dark hair, his lively eyes, and the gods-be-damned cut of his clothes on his gods-be-damned perfect body. That wasn't working out for him. That had gotten him beaten in a duel and bested in the boar hunt. And two of the best orgasms of his life, but that hardly counted.

“Gods, Steve. I’m not asking you to like me. I’m just asking you to turn in my direction so we can get on with this farce of a dinner without injuring each other.” James gritted the words out between clenched teeth, and Steve almost agreed with him.

But, no. Steve had looked at James at the beginning of the feast, and he couldn’t risk it again. James had his hair pulled back in a beautifully woven braid and his outfit was gorgeous, his shirt made of what looked like very soft silk with a vest tied together by leather straps. Steve tried not to imagine until the straps and sighed. “I think we’re getting along as well as we ever will.”

Could a fork moving across a plate sound frustrated? The bite of food that James shoved towards Steve nearly punctured the inside of his cheek. “Ouch.”

James was probably smirking now. Good, because if Steve could focus on the frustration blooming in his chest, he wouldn’t have to think about their damn wedding night, which was drawing ever closer. Every now and again, his cock would stir like an excited colt, ready for action. Steve grumbled, and did his best to ignore James and his perfect cheekbones. But with thoughts like _I want to see him on_ his _knees,_ it was yet another losing battle.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The handsomely carved chunk of ice sitting next to Bucky spoke after another long silence. “I hate this. I hate you.”

“Thank you, my dear husband. I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear those words.” Bucky stabbed at another plate, spearing a piece of cake and jamming the fork towards Steve. He tried to fix a smile on his face for the people who were undoubtedly watching them, but it was hard to find the energy to care what others thought.

Steve cleared his throat loudly, holding his fork in front of Bucky’s face. Right. Bucky opened his mouth and accepted the smallest crumb of cake. It didn’t much matter; it all tasted like gruel. Heat started to flare under his chest, and he took a long sip of his wine.

Around the hall, people had started to push aside the tables to the corners as music wafted down from the balconies. The minstrels picked a fast, fun tune and everyone began to dance, dresses swirling and boots stomping in time to the beat. They played song after song, and people laughed and drank and danced.

Bucky watched the dancing pairs as they came together and spun apart. He glanced at Steve, who was staring anywhere but at Bucky. Fury came to a boil in his chest as he watched the people dancing and enjoying his wedding in a way he wouldn’t. Bucky pushed his chair back, gripping the table and ready to tell Steve and Odin what he thought about this whole farce.

But as he stood, the music switched to something softer, and the crowds stopped dancing to look up at the front of the hall. People from the tables of honor along the side stood and began to come up to their table, offering gifts. Bucky sat back down.

“You have something to say to me?” Steve’s voice was quiet in his ear, and Bucky couldn’t help the little shiver that ran down his back. Steve smirked.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, watching as the first man drew near. “I think that you’re awful at losing and that I’d pick any person in this room to marry over you.” He left out that Steve’s breath on his ear had put goosebumps on his arms and gotten him halfway erect.

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t say anything except, “Thank you,” as Tony from House Stark, renowned for their armory, presented Steve with a beautifully carved shield of wood and iron and Bucky with a shining set of gauntlets.

“You honor us with your gifts.” Bucky even managed to sound properly thankful as Tony bowed and moved away to allow another person to come up with a gift.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The music picked up again after a while, and Steve watched people move in pairs and clap in time with the instruments. The song brought back a memory of dancing at his cousin’s wedding when he was younger, spinning around in his mother's arms. He chanced a glance at James, at his gods-be-damned perfectly braided hair and bright eyes sparking with the influence of wine and anger. Steve took another gulp of wine. Clearly dancing together was not about to happen tonight.

James turned to hand one of the gifts to a waiting servant, and his shoulder brushed against Steve’s. They glared at each other. Steve turned, trying to ignore the way the rest of his body surged with desire, and found himself looking at Winnifred and George Barnes standing alongside his parents.

“Congratulations on your marriage, son. The time has come for us to give you our present,” his father said, turning to George. They exchanged a nod, and the music seemed to fade into the background as Steve waited.

“To honor both of our houses joined in marriage, we have likewise joined a portion of each of our lands together. With the King’s blessing, work has begun on an appropriate keep that you will be able to start manning by the summer’s end.” George took a deep breath. “We will transfer some of each of our men to staff the house. Men who have expressed an interest in this particular assignment, who have sworn an oath of loyalty to the combined Barnes-Rogers House.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the name, like the permanence of the situation had crystallized in front of him, the understanding that James Barnes would be the man sharing his bed until death parted them.

“Rebecca has expressed an interest in bringing her boys to train there as well.” Winnifred smiled at James as she spoke. “She and I have both seen it in the flames, James. We will be a united front.” Her voice faltered for a moment. “Change will come to the Kingdom, and we must be prepared.”

Steve watched James flinch minutely at the proclamation. He pursed his lips and considered telling Winnifred what he thought of her fire god, but held his tongue.

“And I’ll see about sending Sam and his family to stay as well,” Steve’s mother said. “Sam has offered to begin training apprentices.”

“That’s wonderful!” Steve couldn’t help but smile. Sam was an excellent surgeon and field medic, and his teaching would be a boon for both families.

The smile was short lived as the music shifted once more, the pace picking up and the clapping turning to cheering as the people began to call out. “It’s time for the married couple to go to bed!”

Steve’s mother raised an eyebrow, but her eyes sparkled. “Well, we will see you tomorrow.”

As their parents moved out of the way, the younger partygoers surged forward, singing along to the familiar bedding song, and stomping their feet. Sam wove his way through the crowd, and the winning archer Clint came up with Natasha.

“I think we all know what time it is!” Sam called out to the people gathered around.

Everyone cheered, the noise too loud in Steve’s ears.

Whether it was the wine or the sudden swell of warmth from the surrounding revelers, Steve’s face heated as he realized that this would be their first time in a bed together. His chest burned. Being in _bed_ together somehow felt dirtier than pushing James up against the wall and sucking him off at his command.

Steve’s stomach surged, nervous desire running through his veins. He didn’t want to look at James, and he didn’t want to look at Sam either. But Sam wouldn’t judge him for wanting to enjoy his wedding night, right?

He swallowed and met Sam’s eyes, and Sam smiled his approval. Then Sam cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “It’s time to get these wedded men to their bed! Who’s going to help me?”

Clint stepped up, pounding a fist to his chest. “The hallways are long, and they’ve had much to drink! It rests on us, their friends, to make sure they find the way!”

Steve swore he heard James mutter, “I have no friends.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky groaned as Clint practically jumped on the table to get things moving. Natasha wasn’t far behind. When Steve hesitated for a fraction of a moment, she helped Clint heft Steve out of his seat and turn him towards the door. Bucky grinned at that. For once in their short time together, it seemed like Steve wasn’t going to fight.

Now Bucky was the one hesitating. Sam and a couple of the others crowded him. They got Bucky out of the chair and pushed him together with Steve. People shouted while others rapped on their glasses, providing a chorus of clinking. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Loki laughing and clapping and Thor grinning.

Suddenly, Steve’s lips were on his, and they were kissing in the middle of the chaos, putting on a show for everyone around them. Bucky hated him. Steve’s lips were soft, but he was rough, smashing their mouths together with the same anger he had thrust the fork at him. It was a little painful, a little too much. It was perfect. His groin lit up like the stars twinkling at night.

Someone was cheering behind him, someone else was pushing them forward, and the group surged like a wave, forcing Steve and Bucky apart and shoving them out of the hall. Bucky didn’t know where they were going. It wasn’t to his rooms, and from what he could remember it wasn’t the direction to Steve’s rooms.

Clint and Natasha surrounded Steve, and Natasha pulled at his shirt, tugging at the bindings and ripping the side when it didn’t come undone. Bucky caught a flash of tanned skin over strong back muscles and remembered how Steve had lifted that pole earlier like it was nothing. If he let him, Steve could probably lift him like that, could probably fuck him against the wall. Bucky needed fresh air. He took a huge breath and tried to fan his face.

Someone had unlaced his vest and was pulling Bucky’s shirt off, slipping the clothing over his head and tossing it into the throng of people. Everyone spilled into the hallway, too many feet in the confined space. Bucky lost sight of Steve, couldn’t figure out which direction they were going.

Bucky conceded that perhaps he’d had a little too much wine. Someone’s elbow caught him in the side, and he grunted.

“Sorry!” The apology mixed into the calling and laughter and shouts of, “To bed! To bed!”

“Make way for the newlyweds!”

“Young'uns! Avert your eyes!”

Bucky had no choice but to flow with the crowd, stepping over someone’s boots and trying not to trip. It could have been moments or minutes away, but he was about to end up _in bed_ with gods-be-damned Steve Rogers. Bucky sucked in a another breath of air, suddenly just as winded as he had been at the height of their duel. This was somehow more daunting. Another chance to see who came out as the winner.

People shifted and parted, and then Steve was pushed back against him. Both shirtless, they met skin pressed to skin, and Bucky shuddered. Steve was so _warm._

“Kiss!” chanted the crowd, and Bucky parted his lips as though he were helpless to deny their orders.

Steve’s tongue was in his mouth, wet and so very warm. Bucky hated him. He scraped his teeth on Steve’s tongue and Steve grunted, not giving up. Not fighting the crowd, just fighting Bucky. Steve pressed his tongue, insistent, against Bucky’s mouth.

The crowd surged again, and Steve was shoved even closer against him. Their hips met, and Bucky groaned when Steve’s cock jammed into his thigh. He didn’t dare meet Steve’s eyes. He just let himself move with the noises, the sounds, the smell of _Steve_ up against him, unavoidable. His enemy.

His husband.

Hands reached out and pulled them apart again. Bucky caught himself whining, frustrated at the sudden lack of sensation, the sudden chill without Steve close against him. Bucky turned, trying to reach out to Steve. Someone pushed at him, and he stumbled, taking another step towards his marriage bed.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and Steve’s head swam. He should have been better than this, shouldn’t have drunk so much and let his guard down among the crowd and whirlwind of movement. But he did, and now he couldn’t quite catch his breath, couldn’t quite get his feet on the ground without someone pushing up and forcing him forward.

He heard Sam calling, “Show him his groom!” and people parted to reveal James again.

His hair was down. It cascaded over his shoulders in gorgeous brown waves, longer than Steve had expected. He stopped mid-step, momentarily stunned to see James without his ever-present braid. Steve reached out, ready to thread his fingers through his hair and pull James closer, but he couldn’t so much as lift his hand before they were shoved together again, chest to chest and legs slotted between each other.

James was so very hard against Steve’s leg, his hair framing his face, and Steve suddenly wanted everyone else out of the way so he could have his way with his groom. He pressed up closer, and James yelped, a sound drowned out by everyone else jeering and shouting. Steve took advantage of his open mouth, and shoved his tongue in James’s mouth. He rode the sensation of James responding in kind, ignoring the storm of thoughts jostling for his attention, the frustration of being married to his worst enemy and the shame of wanting to get on his knees before him, to coax James apart with his mouth and tongue.

Tangled against each other, they somehow made it to the end of the hall. Sam parted the large wooden doors, marching them through a small sitting room to a stately bedroom. The fireplace burned bright in the corner, and the bed loomed in the middle of the floor, large and imposing. People crowded in as Clint and Sam pulled down the covers and called for the couple to come to bed.

“I’ll get you for this, Sam,” Steve promised, though he couldn’t help the smile that broke through. Sam wasn’t the reason he was here; he couldn’t be mad at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.” Sam grinned.

And then Steve was in bed with James, and everyone cheered, whistling and calling out.

“Excellent work, everyone,” Clint shouted over the noise. He went over to James and whispered something in his ear, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s leave our little lovebirds to it, shall we? We’ll go have a drink in their honor!”

A final round of congratulations went round as people left the room. The roar of the fire and the thundering beat of Steve’s heart dominated the receding silence. James hadn't moved, was still right next to him, and warmth poured off his body. Steve didn’t think too hard about it, just smashed their mouths together, the taste of wine lingering across their tongues.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky slid out of his pants and swung his leg over Steve's lap. He straddled him, grinding their erections together as they made out, their kissing sloppy wet and as bitter as wine. Every brush of Steve's skin against his had Bucky wanting more, so it was an easy decision to fuck now and hate Steve later.

Steve ran his hands through Bucky’s hair as if testing it. He combed through the waves left from the braid before he twisted it around his hand and tightened his grip. Bucky’s breath sounded harsh in his own ears as he let Steve pull him closer, his hair tugging at his scalp. Steve’s expression was unreadable, but his ice blue eyes were darkened by desire, so Bucky stopped trying to think about it. He just savored the way it made him feel, like a shiver stuck at the base of his neck.

“You’ve never had your hair down before,” Steve muttered, his voice low.

Bucky wasn’t in the mood to hear Steve talk about his hair. He had always dreamed of taking down his hair for his husband. He had also dreamed of loving his husband. Bucky shelved those thoughts and brought their lips together, sucking on Steve’s lower lip to keep him quiet. Steve closed his eyes and let Bucky in. 

When Bucky pulled away, Steve didn’t say anything else, just grabbed him, bringing him back close. Bucky couldn't help but run his hands from Steve's shoulders down to his firm chest. He cupped his hands around the muscle and groaned when Steve pressed into his grip, his chest so broad that Bucky couldn't stretch his fingers wide enough, couldn't grab it all at once. He traced his hands down Steve's sides, following the ridiculous taper to Steve's waist. Bucky noticed a trail of soft, light hair that started on Steve's stomach and darkened a few shades before disappearing under his waistband. Intrigued, he reached down and eased Steve's pants off as far as he could in their sitting position. Steve's cock, surrounded by dark golden curls, sprang free and pressed against his belly. Bucky shifted on Steve's lap, overwhelmed by a sudden urge to have the thick length inside him.

Bucky took a deep breath to shove that thought aside and wrapped his hand around Steve's cock. Steve whined almost imperceptibly as it twitched under Bucky's fingers, and Bucky grinned, dragging his fingers across the velvety smooth skin.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d be this eager.” Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s cock, and Steve’s eyes darkened with a swirl of anger and pleasure. “Considering how I came out on top in the duel this morning…”

Steve growled, thrusting up into Bucky’s hand. “Goddess of luck on your side is all,” he said in a voice of stone.

Every stone had its cracks, though, and Bucky couldn’t help but press them. “Two years in a row suggests _luck_ has nothing to do with it.”

 

 

In the space of one breath, Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s waist, lifted him up and off of his lap, and flipped him on his back onto the mattress. Bucky grunted as he hit the bed, Steve already looming above him and pinning his shoulders down.

“It all depends on the rules of the competition.” Steve smirked as he slowly sank down on top of Bucky, bringing them chest to broad chest. Bucky’s heart beat so loud he swore his chest was thumping. His cock was hard, impossibly hard, and he needed Steve to do something about it. Steve just kept him pinned in place, unmoving. Bucky struggled against Steve’s hands, arched his hips up. All he managed was a frustrating whisper of contact as Steve moved with him.

Bucky struggled under Steve's hands and tried to bend a knee up to get it under Steve’s chest and push him over, but Steve stayed firm. Bucky couldn’t break his grip, couldn't get the stimulation he was desperate for.

Steve looked down at Bucky, head tilted as if to say, _see? You’re not going anywhere,_ and Bucky's dick surged with another heavy wave of desire.

“Please just _fuck me_.” The words rushed out as a low growl. He could hate himself for begging later. Right now, Steve was on top of him and holding him down like it was nothing, and it had Bucky so hard he would have gotten down on both knees and begged all of the gods to have Steve do something about it.

Steve smirked down at him, and Bucky tried to even his breathing, tried to think rationally, tried not to beg again for Steve to put his cock in his ass. He barely recognized the wrecked voice spilling from his mouth. “Fuck me! You want to do it. I want to do it. For the sake of the gods -”

Bucky gasped out as Steve reached down and shoved a spit-slicked finger in his ass.

 

~ ★ ~

 

James writhed beneath Steve, and the frantic movement and insistent thrust of his hips kindled a fire in Steve's chest that flared with a desperate hunger. He cast about for a moment, coming up with a bottle of scented oil from the bedside table, and pouring out a mess of it on his hand.

The oil ran through his fingers and spilled onto James’s skin, shining in the flicker of firelight. The light danced on his silky hair, bringing out beautiful auburn tones. James's hair was spread about him on the bed, draped over the pillow and framing his face, his shoulders, his flushed chest. Steve's heart raced as he took in how tightly honed James's body was, took in the strong, corded muscle of his body and thighs and his pale skin. His cock was thick and heavy, dripping and begging to be touched. James was beautiful, and Steve hated him. He had never wanted anyone as much in his whole life.

Steve hefted James’s legs over his shoulders and worked in another finger, trying to keep his head about him long enough to avoid going too fast.

Then James arched under him again and met his gaze with eyes that thundered like a summer storm. “Are you going to keep acting like this is your first time, or are you going to fuck me like you know what you're doing?”

Those words pushed Steve back into the memory of last night, of James shoving his cock in Steve’s mouth and fucking his face. Steve remembered exactly how James had lost control, how he had moaned and grabbed at Steve's hair like he was drowning. Steve shuddered with a heavy breath, trying to hold back. James didn't break his stare, just raised a taunting eyebrow, and Steve growled as the last shred of his self-control dissipated into a wisp of smoke. He pulled out his fingers, smeared the residue of oil on his dick and shoved into James's warm, still tight ass. James hissed.

Steve let him almost catch his breath before he started to fuck him.

He played at the angle for a few thrusts, drawing out intoxicating moans and gasp from James. Steve braced one hand on the pillow and grabbed at a handful of the long, brown hair spread across the pillow, holding loosely. James closed his eyes and groaned as Steve tightened his grip. The noise had waves of warmth spreading throughout Steve's body. He pulled out slow and slammed back in, and James arched up against him, his eyes still closed, his hands gripping the bedding. Steve wrapped James's hair around his fist as he slid out tauntingly slowly again. He thrust in, and angled right to James's most pleasurable spot. James arched up and his groan because became a shout as Steve kept him pinned down with a hand in his hair.

Steve grinned as James parted his eyes, looking up to Steve with eyes darker than a summer storm, his cheeks red and flushed. James licked his lips as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Steve let go of the hair in his hand with a smirk. 

“I ought to pick you up and fuck you into the wall,” Steve growled out, surprising himself with how wrecked his voice went at the thought.

James groaned his assent from beneath him, reaching up to fist his cock. “You could, you should, _gods_ , Steve,” he panted, unable to spit out a full sentence.

Steve considered it, even put his hands on James’s waist and gripped tight, but he was too far gone to figure out where to put his legs and how to stand, so he just kept fucking James. James groaned and spread his legs wider to let Steve in as deep as he could go. Steve wrapped his hands around those perfect, muscular thighs, watching his cock sliding in and out of James's hole. With every breath, James arched up, his hair streaming behind him, and Steve groaned, fingers digging into James's legs. Steve was too close, a heavy flush spreading from his chest to his belly. He couldn't quite keep a semblance of consistency as he thrust again and again, their skin slapping together at odd half-beats. 

The fire in Steve's chest flared as his pleasure peaked, dragging out his orgasm as he came inside James. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes open as he reveled in the warmth of each pulse of his release. He watched James jerk himself off through half-closed eyes. When James came, he clenched around Steve’s softening dick. It played on the edge of pain, on the edge of just too much, and Steve closed his eyes. When James was finished, Steve relished the heat in his chest, the contented relaxation of every muscle in his body. It kept his mind in a haze, preventing him from remembering just how much he hated James. 

James shifted underneath him, bucking his hips to prod Steve into getting off of him, and Steve opened his eyes. James stared up at him with an unreadable expression. Maybe he had forgotten his hatred for a moment, too. The low fire of frustration began to burn as Steve slid out of James, and the glowing contentment of the moment disappeared. Steve wanted to throw James out of the bed. He wanted to grab his hips and start fucking him again so he could chase that calm haze of relaxation.

Steve managed to focus on cleaning up. The top layer of bedding was thoroughly covered in oil and sweat and cum. He handed a corner of the sheet to James to wipe up with before balling it up and pushing it to the ground. The room was warm enough to sleep above the other blankets. Steve settled into his spot and closed his eyes. Tired from the day's events, Steve relaxed into the bedding and let the last remnants of his orgasm keep him comfortable and content to deal with everything else—namely, his hatred for his husband—tomorrow.

James shifted in the bed next to him, stretching his legs and turning from one side to another again and again. After the fourth time, Steve cracked open an eye to glance at him.

“It’s too damned late to change anything tonight. Might as well get some sleep.” Steve stretched out across the bed, turning back to his side and away from James. “Besides. You won an important duel this morning. Must be tiring.” A smile he knew James couldn’t see worked its way to his lips.

But James didn’t say anything, just shifted, barely rustling the sheets as he moved. Steve pictured him, naked and his hair down around his shoulders. His cock stirred at the thought of grabbing another fistful of that hair, and Steve had to resist turning over and trying to fuck James to sleep.  “Get some rest, James. We can get back to hating each other on the morrow.”

He was met with silence from the other side of the bed. Steve was too tired to care. If James didn’t want to say anything, that was his choice.

Several more minutes went by, and Steve was floating between the border of awake and asleep when he heard James muttering something. He turned over and saw the tension in James’s shoulders. He blinked back sleep. “Sorry, didn’t hear?”

“Just.” James paused, dragging his half of the blanket up to his shoulders and sighing. “Just call me Bucky. You’re my gods-be-damned husband and James is...” He trailed off and Steve didn’t bother to press it, just nodded and let himself drift back towards sleep. _Bucky._

 

~ ★ ~

 

When Steve opened his eyes some time later, it was still dark in the castle. The fire was only embers, and noises echoed out in the corridor, shouts and heavy footfalls. Steve sat up, and Bucky was already sliding silently out of the bed. He padded naked through the sitting room to the door, easing it open so they could hear more clearly.

A guard ran past, calling out, “To arms! The King is dead! We must catch the assassin!”

 

~ ★ ~


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky closed the door, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he scanned their room and wrestled with the idea that Odin was dead. His sham of a marriage was pushed to the back of his mind. Just days ago, Bucky had deflected a knife meant for the King’s chest. It hadn’t been enough. He pulled open the armoire in the corner of the bedroom, which, thank the gods, was stocked with a few military uniforms. Grabbing one uniform for himself, he tossed the other to Steve, his gods-be-damned _husband_. Bucky shook his head to clear his mind of those thoughts. He should have worried more about uncovering the assassination plot than who was going to share his bed. And now the King was fucking dead.

He searched the shelves and drawers of the armoire, but couldn’t find even a simple knife to arm himself with. “Whoever came up with the gods-be-damned tradition of the wedded couple bringing their items to their marriage bed the next morning has never dealt with early morning assassinations.”

“I’ve had enough of traditions myself.” Steve seemed agreeable enough as he shook out the pile of clothing and started wrestling on a shirt.

The embers of the fireplace had long since stopped glowing, but Bucky chanced a look as he pulled on clothing. Nothing. Had he expected to see a image of the assassin rise from ash? There were no flames to focus on.

Steve was still by the bed, halfway through getting dressed.

Bucky's anger rose out of nowhere, frustration over the marriage and the gut punch of not stopping an assassination slamming together. He snapped at Steve, “Are you going to be helpful anytime soon?”

There was a snort from the bed, but Bucky didn’t turn to look. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on getting his feet into his boots.

“So who killed him in your place?” Steve asked, his tone trying for jest, but Bucky wasn't about to humor him.

Bucky whirled around, one boot still in his hands and a snarl on his lips. “Would you give it a fucking rest? I don’t know how to get it through your thick head that I do not want to see the King dead.” Fingers twitching to throw a knife, Bucky stormed out into the corridor, leaving Steve to sit useless and alone in the giant bedroom.

His head hurt from too much wine and too little sleep, and his backside was sore, but Bucky just followed the noises, slipping in behind a guard detail. They fanned out in groups through the long hallways, and Bucky cursed his lack of knowledge of the castle layout. He picked the middle group.

The guards around him grunted an acknowledgement, the one nearest to him giving him a once-over. Seeing no weapons, the guard raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Bucky was thankful to not be considered a threat.

They headed into the kitchens where women and men kneaded dough for the day ahead. One of the guards asked them a few questions, but none of the bakers had seen anything except sacks of flour and jars full of earthy yeast. Bucky watched closely, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No one seemed to be hiding anything.

Back in the halls, Bucky saw a flash of dark hair and the edge of a green cloak disappear behind a door. He turned abruptly as the guards headed further into the castle. Bucky caught the door and moved inside the room as quietly as he could.

The door closed behind him, leaving everything dark, and when Bucky blinked, there was a knife at his throat, the slight shine of silver barely noticeable, but the blade a very real presence against his skin.

“Don’t. Move.”

Bucky wasn’t about to nod to agree. He held himself stiff against the door, holding his breath and willing his eyes to adjust faster. It didn’t sound like whoever was holding the knife was moving either.

“James Barnes?” A moment later, the knife was moved away, and Bucky realized he was staring at Loki. He fought down a moment of panic—had Loki killed his own father? Was that why he’d run to hide in here? Tales of Loki’s past flitted through Bucky’s mind, and he wished yet again for his weapons.

“Yes. Shouldn’t you be looking for your father’s assassin like everyone else?” Bucky was thankful his voice didn’t waver, though he didn’t like the prospect of disarming and taking down a prince if it came to that.

Bucky couldn’t quite see Loki’s eyes in the dark, couldn’t quite watch his movement. He heard the resigned step on the stone and the sudden rush of heat when a fire roared to life in the wall opposite him.

Loki frowned at Bucky, the flames casting an eerie glow around them both. “My father’s been murdered. I’m not about to run around looking for an assassin I don’t want to fight. Let my idiotic brute of a brother lose his life to that folly. I came to see the flames.” He paused, his glance at Bucky a little more meaningful now.

“You know my family—my mother especially—could help you with that.”

“I’ve heard of your Lady Mother’s proficiency with the flames, but understood that she tends to have the visions while sleeping.” Loki turned, looking towards the flames with urgency woven through his shoulders and back, his dark hair tangled at the ends.

“Becca is the same, though she sometimes has luck with ashes.” Bucky hesitated before stepping up to Loki’s side. The fire was already burning so brightly. How had Loki started it so fast? “I could look with you?”

“I’d appreciate the effort.” Loki didn’t say anything else. He stood, eyes on the flames, head bowed slightly, whispering a quiet prayer.

Bucky didn’t try to listen, just tried to clear his mind like his mother had always instructed him. Her voice, unbidden, rose in his mind with instructions he had heard over and over in his childhood. _“You’re not trying to watch the flames. You’re not trying to_ find _patterns. You are letting the flames reveal their patterns. You need to be patient.”_

Patience was for other times, not for when the King was dead and every moment he spent staring at nothing but orange and red was a moment the assassin was escaping. Bucky blew out a breath in frustration, watching the fire flicker up towards the chimney. He needed to be calm. His mother’s voice reminded him to breathe slowly.

Loki seemed to fade into the background as Bucky let air and fire flow through his body, his skin warming and his eyes burning. The flames twisted, jumping and leaping up higher until they showed the image of a woman with a great horned helmet leading an army. A pouf of ashes swirled around her, leaving the impression of her looking up at them with a horrible smile.

Bucky stumbled back, breaking his trance. He turned to Loki, who looked just as stricken, his eyes darting around the room as though the figure in the flames would appear from behind a tapestry.

“What did you see?” Bucky asked. He shuddered, suddenly cold. He wanted to find Steve.

He wanted to stop thinking about Steve.

“I need to find Thor.” Loki straightened, wiping fear from his face as though it was a crumb left over from breakfast. “We need to talk. Come with me. Hopefully he hasn’t gotten himself killed yet.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

By the time Steve made it to the doorway of their bedroom, Bucky had already disappeared. Steve didn’t let himself dwell on the little patter of disappointment that Bucky hadn’t waited. After all, he had just accused him of high treason.

Pushing his thoughts of Bucky away, Steve headed through the hallway, retracing the steps he had been unceremoniously pushed down last night. The King was the reason Steve was in the castle to begin with. He still wouldn’t have wished for this death.

Steve entered the great hall, where many families had started to congregate. A member of the Kingsguard kept order at the front of the room. She was one that had ridden with them to the castle. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He crossed the room, stepping up to her side. “Bryn. Anything I can do to help?”

Bryn scoffed, watching the families milling about the tables. People yawned from the early hour and huddled close. More than a few openly wept for the passing of their King, but the noise barely rose above a dull undercurrent of sound. “I have everyone scouting every room of the castle as we speak. Stay out of the way, log thrower.”

“I needed a new name. That’s a good one.” Steve glanced around the hall again, but didn’t see his mother and father. Sam wasn’t there either. He turned to go, but then Bryn called out.

“Hey. Log thrower. I’ve got everyone searching for the assassin, but I could use some back up checking on our Wakandan envoy.” Bryn scoffed again even though Steve hadn’t said anything. “Not that I think they would _need_ help if someone was trying to attack them—between Okoye and M’Baku alone, I think they’re set.”

Steve nodded. “Do you think they could be behind this?” he asked quietly.

Bryn shook her head. “They are honorable. If they were after our King, they would have told us before presenting his head on a platter.”

It wasn’t the best foundation of trust, but Steve went off in the direction she nodded towards. As he strode across the stone floors, he recognized that he was near his King-appointed quarters where all of his things waited for him to trek them to his _new beginnings_. He detoured to his rooms.

A few minutes later, Steve emerged with his leather armor on, his sword at his side, and his new shield strapped to his back. Being armed made a difference in his resolve as he jogged down the hallway, but he entertained no illusions of finding the assassin after this much time had passed. He came up to the Wakandan envoy’s room, guarded by Okoye in her red armor.

“Ma’am.” Steve ducked his head in deferrence. “I’ve been sent by the Kingsguard to confirm your safety.”

Okoye raised an eyebrow but nodded. “We are fine in here, and I will guard Princess Shuri with my life.” She pointed down the hallway. “We heard a commotion up ahead and M’Baku went to investigate. Feel free to confirm his safety if you wish.” She paused and met him with a slight smile on her lips. “Log thrower.”

Steve rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. He didn’t have time to waste. “If you need anything, Bryn is in the great hall directing the search.”

Okoye nodded again, and kept her grip on her spear, pivoting quickly and scanning down the hallways with a practiced ease. Steve heard a shout in the distance and was off, moving as fast as he could, and wishing he had a better idea of what to expect.

Rounding the first corner, the sound of steel against steel rang out ahead like angry bells. Steve forced himself to run faster down the long hallway. When he turned haphazardly around the next bend, he stopped just short of running into M’Baku.

M’Baku charged forward, his opponent an even taller man in green-scaled leather armor. They met spear for sword, M’Baku’s spear holding against the flat of the blade.

Steve saw blood on the blade, but M’Baku didn’t appear to have been hurt. The King’s blood, then?

“This man is your traitor!” M’Baku grunted out. With a great heave of strength, he threw his opponent back into the wall. “Are you going to hesitate now?”

Grabbing his shield and sword, Steve stepped forward to stand next to M’Baku.

The assassin unsheathed a second sword, his eyes dark and angry.

M’Baku nodded at Steve and they attacked, Steve coming around from the side and M’Baku charging from the front. The assassin was quick, dropping low to the ground, rolling out of the way and springing up behind Steve.

Steve whirled, raising his shield in time to block the blade. Instinct alone got his sword in position to block the second cut.

The assassin jumped back, blades at the ready. “Are you two the best the throne can provide?  _This_ is why your King is dead. _This_ is why we will usher in a new rule!”

M’Baku spat on the floor. “I did not come on behalf of their King. I just saw a loose end that needed to be tied up.” He hefted his spear, a long, thick piece of wood that looked as heavy as Steve’s largest sword. M’Baku held the spear as though it were as light as a stick.

The assassin didn’t seem concerned. He kept his back against the wall, both swords up, one bloodied and one clean.

They had to be near the rear wall of the castle; the early dawnlight was creeping through windows up ahead.

“Where are the other guards?” Steve asked M’Baku, not taking his eyes off the assassin.

“The two that stayed are dead. The rest had left after looking and finding nothing here.” M’Baku raised his spear and attacked.

The assassin was fast, faster than Bucky had been in their duel, and even with M’Baku striking every opening that Steve tried to give him, the assassin seemed to slither just out of reach each time, forcing them down the corridor step by step. Steve barely had time to react to the assassin’s dancing blades.

“The window!” Steve realized a moment too late that it would make the perfect escape route.

The assassin took a running jump, but M’Baku growled and, with a burst of effort, covered the distance in two long strides. He pressed his spear across his assassin’s throat. The assassin winced, swatting at M’Baku with his swords, but he couldn’t angle past his armor.

Footsteps signified the Kingsguard responding to the commotion. A group of several guards came around the corner, their leader a woman as tall as Steve with blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail.  

“Over here,” called Steve, gesturing to M’Baku. “He’s got the assassin!”

“This man thought to hide in our quarters.” M’Baku chuckled even as he glared at the man pinned beneath him. “Wakanda has no place for king-killers.”

The leader of the squad nodded, motioning for the two behind her to come forward and help bind the assassin’s hands. She identified herself as Ema.

“We will bring him to the King for further questioning.” Ema paused. “To King Thor.” She nudged the assassin to start moving.

He spat on the floor. “It matters not what your pretend _King_ discovers from me. My Queen’s reign has already begun-”

Ema slapped him with the butt of her spear. “Save your words for the King. Be silent or I will gag you.” She gave another signal, and the group marched the assassin off, disappearing around the corner.

Steve looked to M’Baku. “Thank you. You have done the Kingdom a great service. I must make sure this news get to Prince Thor—the King, I mean. I guess he’s the King now.” He let out another breath, trying to sort through the idea that Odin had been assassinated.

M’Baku slung his spear over his shoulder. “Perhaps you Northerners need Wakanda to take over and protect your lands.” At Steve’s sharp glance, he laughed. “It is a joke. Your snow has too much ice in it up here.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

“And that is what I saw, your Majesty.” Bucky found the words odd in his mouth as he watched Thor the King rise from one of the simple chairs in the well-guarded secret chamber.

Thor wore the title like it was one stone too heavy for his shoulders. He turned to look out of the slit window of the chamber, their only indication where they were in the castle. “You have not spoken of these abilities before now, Sir James.”

“I am not my mother, your Majesty. I am not well trained in those arts. I wish for people to rely on my blade for protection, not my glimpses of madness in the flames.” Bucky flinched as he spoke. He didn’t want to offend Loki, but now was not the time to pretend he thought better of what he could do.

Loki stared at Thor’s back. “I believe it is as they said. She will come from her exile. She will try to claim her place on the throne.”

“Who is in exile? Who is coming for the throne?” Bucky followed Thor's gaze as he turned from the window to face Loki. The wind howled from outside the small slit of a window, and Bucky shivered.

“I fear the Kingdom is about to remember that we have another sibling,” Loki said, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “She is the eldest and would have been the true heir to the throne had our father not condemned her to exile when he learned of her plots to grow our Kingdom. She was prepared to execute every last citizen who disagreed with her plans.”

A knock at the door had all three of them tensing, hands going to their weapons. They relaxed when the second part of the knock completed the code, and Thor nodded to Loki to open the door.

Bryn stood there. Behind her was the tall Wakandan warrior. And behind him was Steve, who was armed with his sword and shield.

“Your Majesty.” Bryn dropped to a knee, and Steve followed suit.

The warrior inclined his head in deference. Bucky noticed that he was taller than even Thor.

“You may rise. Tell me what news you have, Bryn.” Thor motioned them in, closing the door swiftly behind them.

“The assassin has been caught and is being prepared in the dungeons as we speak. He was apprehended by M’Baku and Sir Steven,” she said. Thor turned back to the window. “Are you expecting someone?”

Thor’s voice rumbled as he spoke, as though he were an oncoming storm. “There was a prophecy that when my father passed, his eldest child would return to the throne. Simple. The kind of prophecy that has people shake their heads and ask how hard it is to be an oracle, yes?”

Bryn’s face went white. “You really think your sister will return?”

Thor kept watching out the window. Sheets of rain had started to pour down, gusting until they were almost sideways. “I think it would be prudent to act as though she were. Gather a suitable guard for me, Bryn. I shall question the assassin myself and then we have preparations to begin.” He turned to M’Baku. “Thank you for your part in stopping him. I owe you a debt.”

“Don’t you worry. I will remember this at an appropriate time should I need a favor,” M’Baku agreed, before turning and leaving.

Silence filled the little room as Bryn took her leave to summon Ema’s squad. Bucky didn’t dare speak a word to Steve as they stood, waiting for an order from the King. Thor seemed to scrutinize each raindrop, and Loki stared past all of them.

Bucky shifted, the sound of his foot moving covered by the downpour of rain. He glanced sideways at Steve who was still holding himself at a cautious attention. Finally, Bryn returned with Ema and her squad. Only then did Thor turn from the window. He waved Loki to come with, and they headed down the stairs towards the dungeons.

Which left Steve and Bucky together and alone in the silence.

“Assassins never pick a convenient time to commit murder.” Bucky’s words echoed loudly in the chamber, surprising them both. He busied himself with looking at an intricate tapestry on one of the walls. After awhile, he chanced another attempt at conversation. “Do you think Thor would have forced the marriage if it was his choice?”

“I believe Odin wasn’t the only one supporting the unification of our houses,” Steve grumbled, staring out the window as if to continue Thor’s search through the squall. “But good to know you’re already looking for ways out of this marriage.”

Bucky sighed. With everything swirling in front of him like a grinning monster of ash, he didn’t want to waste his energy on Steve. He patted his side, desperate for a real weapon. He wanted to find his parents, confirm that Becca was safe. He wanted to get them to their homes before Castle Asgard was laid to siege.

He wanted to get more information on this sister who had reduced Thor and Loki to silence.

Something clattered on the table and Bucky looked over to see that Steve had put two knives down. “I, uh. Brought these for you.”

Bucky walked over to the table. The knives were old with worn handles, but the blades were sharp. Just holding one helped him feel at ease. “Thanks.” When he glanced outside at the rain, he remembered how the flames had danced up and surrounded him with that vision of the horned-helmet warrior. Goosebumps pricked on his arms. “We should go find our families. See what we can do to help.”

Without other orders, they left the room, and headed down circular stairs. Bucky peered out through a crack in the hidden door, making sure no one saw as they came out from the space. He paused. “I’ll see you tonight?” The words rang empty in the corridor.

“I—” Steve licked his lips, pressing them together like he was stopping himself from saying something else. “Yes.”

“The gods know we already fucked up the moving-in ceremony. So you’ll forgive me for not coming help you move your things to our new rooms.” Bucky was suddenly very aware of how wet Steve’s lips were. He swallowed. “And maybe for once, I’ll push you up against the walls.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a promise, _husband._ ”

Bucky nodded. If a quick fuck was all they had together, he might as well learn to enjoy that.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The murky dark of the dungeons was disrupted by torchlight. Bryn and Ema carried the torches in front of Thor and Loki. The whole group moved grimly past mostly empty cells.

“Fjorgynn!” Thor called out for the dungeon keeper.

The scrape of boots on the damp stone signaled his presence. “Aye. I’ve got ‘im ready for ye,” Fjorgynn said. “This last one here, then.” He limped forward, unlocking an iron wrought door. Thor and Loki went into the cell, each taking a torch. Bryn and Ema fell into position on either side of the door.

Inside the small space, the assassin was chained to the wall, just enough give in the lengths that he could lie on the stone bed carved into the wall. The floor squelched under Thor’s boots, a reminder of the distasteful task in front of him. Thank the gods he had his brother to help. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”

The assassin gave a sort of hiss in response, as if daring Thor to ask those questions.

“Who are you working for?”

No response.

Thor circled the tiny room, put his torch in a holder on the wall, and tapped his finger on his chin, as though he’d had a new idea. “Tell me your name, assassin.”

To his surprise, that question received an answer. “Yes, yes. Let it be told that Jormungand killed Odin.” He barked out a dark laugh. “Let your people whisper it in the night, fearful of what comes next.”

Loki stepped forward, pressing a knife against Jormungand’s throat. “Answer my brother’s questions without the extra fanfare, if you please.”

Jormungand swallowed, but his dark eyes held no fear. “I have completed my task. The goddess will bless me upon my return to her, whether it be in body or spirit.”

“And who might this goddess be?” Thor pressed. He knew what name he would hear. He knew Loki knew what name they would hear. And yet, they needed to have it spoken aloud.

“Are you telling me that you’ve forgotten your sister’s name?” Jormungand smiled. “It has begun. Hela has returned.”

Loki pressed the knife harder.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“James!” His mother rushed across the room, her characteristic poise gone as she wrapped her arms around Bucky.

Bucky patted her back as he returned the hug. The rooms provided for his family were small, but the furniture was covered in beautiful silks, and bowls of flowers covered the tables. They were just starting to wilt.

“Mother, I’m so glad to hear everyone is well.” Bucky smiled at Becca, who was holding her little boys. “Even now, we need to keep our guard up.”

HIs father nodded from where he sat polishing his sword. “Henry is taking Becca and the boys back home today. We’ll follow tomorrow. This castle is no longer safe, no matter what the new King might say.”

“Prince Thor—excuse me, King Thor—is planning to raise a defensive army. He may require some to stay.”

“We will work around what must be done,” Becca said. Her littlest, Grant, began to cry for some milk and she made to nurse him. Her eldest, Gage, scooted towards Bucky, looking for someone to hold him. Bucky picked him up and he leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

“If nothing else, perhaps the King will grant me leave long enough to escort you back home.” If not Thor himself, Loki might be convinced to let him do it. Bucky just had to be patient. But patience was for people that hadn’t seen what he had seen in the flames, for people who hadn’t seen Thor and Loki pale at the thought of their sister returning.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Thor tested the throne, dropping into the seat as though he belonged there. As a boy, he had loved to climb on the throne, to hide behind the gold posts. Now he slid back as though the seat might bite, running his hands along the smooth armrests with care. He traced the gold plated wood that circled towards the ground and back up to the ceiling.

“Brother. It suits you.” Loki appeared from one of the doorways. Bryn gave a signal and the Kingsguard around Thor shifted to encompass Loki in their protective gaze.

“You always were a liar.” Thor tapped his fingers on the throne. “Well, what news have you gotten so far?”

“The Houses await our guidance. The rumors have spread that we plan on raising our army and their talk turns to concerns of being unable to finish their planting.” Loki took a few steps around the throne, inspecting it.

Thor nodded, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. “They should have planted before they came to us. I won’t hear anything of it. Our father selected these days for the wedding festival for exactly that reason.” Thor stood, unable to tolerate sitting on the throne any longer. “Well, let’s be on with it. Have you gathered my advisors? We have a war to plan against an enemy we don’t know.”

“Ah, but we do know her.” Loki gestured for the men who were waiting at the edge of the Hall to come forward to begin the meeting. “She is, after all, our sister.”

Thor’s response was cut off by a man bursting into the hall, Ema trailing on his heels.

“Your Majesty,” Ema called. “This man claims to have an important message for the Throne.”

Thor glanced down. The man strode between the tables, dodging Ema’s reach. Bryn and the other guards moved into a defensive position. As Ema and another guard grabbed the messenger by his shoulders, he shouted, “A false King sits upon the throne!” Ema pulled him backwards to the door. He dug in his heels. “Hela has returned to the Kingdom, and she comes for her crown!”

Ema’s sword to the messenger’s throat had him finally holding his tongue. Thor stepped down from the throne and stalked across the room.

“Have you anything useful to say? Or do you just enjoy spewing dramatic remarks?” Thor considered the silent messenger in front of him. “I guess we will put our dungeons to good use again.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

The evening meal was taken in remembrance of King Odin. White lilies in delicate glass vases sat on black cloth that ran the length of every table. At the high table, Thor and Loki wore black, and Frigga wore a flowing gown of white mourning. Black banners adorned every door and window, and around each table people sat in their darkest clothing, few having thought to pack mourning outfits to bring to a festival and wedding. The air hung heavy with the lack of conversation.

The silence did not help Steve to ignore Bucky. No longer the center of attention, they were eating at a lower table with their families and friends. Bucky kept playing with the food on his plate, and Steve had an urge to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He stayed his hand. Best not let the sudden death of the King tangle up his feelings for Bucky. Once this mess of potential war was sorted out, they could get on with overseeing the construction of their keep and just live their lives apart. In the same house.

After the soup had been taken away, Thor stood. The few muted conversations flickered out.  

“Tonight, we remember my father. We remember our King.” Thor paused, considering his words. “He was a wise, fair ruler, and I intend to continue in this way. However. There is word of a new threat to our Kingdom, an enemy poised to strike while we are presumed to be in chaos from the sudden upheaval. That is not our way. We will be prepared.”

Murmurs washed through the hall as others turned to each other in concern, but Steve watched Thor.

“To that end, we will be calling on each House to provide warriors. We will detail our requirements tomorrow. Tonight, we raise our glasses to Odin. May you find your place among the Heavens, father.”

Thor bowed his head, and the hall went silent again. When he sat down and began to eat, quiet conversations broke out in pockets throughout the hall.

Steve looked over to where M’Baku and the others of the Wakandan envoy sat and wondered how long they would stay, if they would offer to help, or if they would bow out and let the Northern Kingdom work out its own problems.

Next to Steve, Sam talked with Natasha and Clint, the three of them debating something about falconry. Steve couldn’t fault him for getting along with them, but it stung a small part of his heart. Farther down the table, his mother had a quiet scoff of laughter at something Winnifred said. And next to them, his father was in a deep discussion with George.

It was as though everyone except Steve had decided to pretend that there’d never been any animosity between the families. As though his father hadn’t led his men to their deaths and as though Bucky’s father hadn’t watched his men die beside them.

On Steve’s other side, Bucky was watching the room; he tracked who moved, who left the Hall, and who entered. He still hadn’t touched his plate.

“They all have guards for a reason, Bucky. Eat your dinner.” Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood came out as a command, and Bucky glared at him, a look that could cut as easily as any of his knives.

“If you truly think I’m incapable of taking care of myself without your direct assistance, might I remind you who won our duel yesterday?” Bucky’s eyes were awash in flames, his voice strong, and Steve's breath caught in his chest as he remembered being forced to kneel at swordpoint.

“Which one?” Steve hissed in a low whisper. “Because I’m pretty sure _I_ came out on top.”

Bucky started to hiss a reply, but stopped. Steve followed his gaze up to the throne, where a courier had been escorted in through a side door. The courier, red-faced and out of breath, relayed a message to Thor.

Steve watched Thor’s expression change from interest to concern, his brow furrowing as the courier gasped out words like “army” and “marching.” Thor called for a servant to bring some water, put a hand on the courier’s shoulder and dismissed him.

Thor stood again. He didn’t need to make a sound; conversations died on open lips as people turned to look at him. He walked to the wall behind the throne and retrieved his golden warhelm.

“We’ve just received word of an attack on Colbalt Landing,” he said. “Rest well tonight my friends, because tomorrow, we prepare for war.”

 

 

~ ★ ~


	7. Chapter 7

Thor’s announcement of war broke the previous muted silence. People speculated and worried as they left the hall like a sea of dark water, spilling into the corridors and making haste to their rooms to begin to pack their trunks.

Though Steve still sat with Sam, Bucky, Clint, and Natasha, the untucked seats, empty benches, and abandoned plates lent the hall a cavernous air.

Sam glanced up at the throne, where Thor sat and listened to advisors even now as servants cleared the tables. “It’s a shame he doesn’t get to mourn his father before being thrust into this.”

Steve nodded somberly. “It’s how the world works. People die, and other people take advantage. And they really just wrote their oldest sibling out of history?”

To his surprise, Bucky spoke up. “Yes. Odin banished her to an island west of here over twenty years ago, and worked quickly to quash any further mention. I guess he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own daughter.”

“So the countryside will be relatively safe,” Steve mused, watching as Thor dismissed one woman and began to listen to the next advisor. “Unless you think she means to march past the castle and attack individual strongholds first? Break down the Vale? And then try to lay siege to Asgard?”

“And give them time to prepare fortifications?” Sam shook his head. “You know the answer to that.”

“We need to help with arrangements to get families back to their homes. ” Steve stood, prepared to begin that moment.

“We need to wait until Thor gives us his official orders,” Bucky said. His tone wasn’t confrontational, but Steve’s shoulders stiffened at the correction.

“If Thor proves to be a competent leader, his official orders will be to return families back to their homes and fortify the castle.” Clint leaned back on the bench and turned to Natasha with an overly sweet smile. “So sorry, my love, but you’ll have to run the household without me.”

“Wanda can manage in our absence.” Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “A man outshoots you one time and thinks he’s the one the King wants protecting his castle.”

Thor spoke with a few more people. As the hour grew late, Bryn tried to bring him towards the King’s chambers, but he shook his head. Steve couldn’t hear what Thor said, but Bryn nodded, and the group headed in the other direction. More preparations to begin, no doubt, and Steve didn’t envy any of them.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Clint said as he stood. “Try not to die, any of you.” Natasha rose, silent on her feet as she left with him.

"Until tomorrow." Steve managed to bite his tongue before he added anything else. A month ago, he would have fought them to the death if they met on a battlefield.

“Peace, Steve.” Sam put his arm on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve swore he saw Bucky tense. “Change is rushing through the Kingdom. We must keep together as best we can, lest we are broken up by the waves.”

“Right as always, Sam.” Steve sighed, trying to let tension drain out of his shoulders. He heaved out a giant breath, scrunching his shoulders up and letting them down. It worked, barely. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”

And then he was walking a step behind Bucky and only half staring at his ass as they made their way to their new chambers. Inside the bedroom, their trunks sat side by side on the floor, and their clothing mingled in the armoire. A thought flashed through Steve’s mind about setting the clothing on fire and asking Bucky what he saw in  _those_ flames.

Another voice in his head reminded him that now would be the perfect time for House Barnes to declare the marriage annulled or to take advantage of the chaos and try to frame some convenient murders as assassinations by outside forces.

It gave him a headache. Steve preferred to fight, pointing a sword against whoever was fighting back. At least then you knew who your enemy was and didn’t have to wonder until a dagger was in your back.

Bucky strode to his chest, making a show of pulling out a weapon and putting it to the side while he rummaged through for something else. Opals sparkled on the handle of the dagger, and Steve recognized it as the tournament prize Bucky had won five years ago.

They hadn’t fought against each other that year. Steve had come down with a horrible illness that had laid him up for a month, an experience he was keen to never go through again. The idea that Bucky thought to flaunt his victory tonight had Steve fuming.

He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. He pressed his lips together in an effort to stay silent as he pretended to check on something in his trunk. Knowing Bucky expected him to say something, Steve took a few deep breaths and counted each one. He _wouldn't_ start a fight, not now. Not even with how badly he wanted to work off some anger. After five breaths, Bucky grabbed the dagger and shoved it back in the trunk before stalking over to his side of the bed.

Steve huffed in frustration. His eyes burned with exhaustion, and he needed to sleep. But with Bucky there? He barely wanted to get into the bed. For a minute, he entertained the idea of going sleep on a chair in the sitting room.

If Bucky noticed his hesitation, he didn’t seem to give a damn about it. Bucky turned away, shed his clothes, and climbed onto the thick mattress, settling without a word. He drew the blanket up over his long legs, covering up the lean muscle of his back.

Steve remembered a beat too late that he was angry with Bucky and stopped staring. He wasn't going to let Bucky have the bed to himself while he was uncomfortable on a chair all night. He stepped out of his clothes, loudly tossing them onto the nearby table just to make certain Bucky knew he was also naked. Not that it mattered. He climbed into the bed and blew out the candle on the nightstand.

Darkness rushed into the room, seeped into every bit of the space, and Steve lay there on his back, waiting for Bucky’s breathing to even out. He kept waiting. Eventually, Steve must have faded into sleep, because he woke some time later, the room still pitch black and the moon hidden behind clouds. Bucky had his backside pressed firmly against Steve’s crotch, pushing back on his fully erect dick and breathing heavily. Bucky's skin was warm and soft, and Steve couldn't help but reach through the dark to run his hands on Bucky's thighs.

Steve realized what he was doing and cursed. He willed himself to pull his hands away as he scooted back and turned over. He shoved the palm of his hand against his dick, willing it to go down, and closed his eyes.

He opened them again, and he was wrapped around Bucky, one hand playing with strands of hair that had gotten loose from his braid and the other running down Bucky’s thigh, tracing the muscle. Half asleep in front of him, Bucky groaned softly and spread his legs.

“Gods damn it,” Steve muttered, his cock starting to come to attention. Was he really that unable to resist?

He ignored the quieter voice in his mind reminding him how the earth had shattered into pieces when Bucky made him kneel on the duel grounds, forced him to submit in front of the point of his sword. Steve whimpered, and Bucky woke fully, grumbling as he rustled the sheets turning over.

“I’m trying to be angry.” Bucky reached out, pulling Steve closer, until their matching erections were pressed together, and Steve thought he might incinerate. “But I can’t blame you any more than I can blame myself.”

Steve drew in a sharp breath, his skin bursting into flames as Bucky leaned against him. He bit his lip, trying to force himself to think of anything besides Bucky’s soft skin and warm thighs. “Bah. I just need to get some rest, be ready for tomorrow -”

“Fucking hells, Steve,” Bucky groaned, his breath on Steve’s ear scorching his resolve. “I know you hate me. The gods know I hate you. Let’s just fuck, yeah?”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky’s whisper cut through the dark as he faced Steve. “I’m not going to keep waking up to you on top of me doing nothing but rutting around.”

“What are we…” Steve’s heaving chest was palpable as he choked out his words. “What do you want me to do?”

 _Gods._ Bucky tried to keep himself from coming from Steve’s wrecked voice alone. He made the mistake of reaching through the blackness for Steve, his hands resting on Steve's gods-be-damned firm chest. His skin was so damned warm, and Bucky traced his fingers down Steve's chest, picking up the trail of hair on his stomach and following it lower. Steve arched into his touch with a needy whine.

Bucky rested his hand on Steve's heavily erect cock and just managed to keep his voice steady as he said, “I want you to spread your legs and let me fuck you.”

Steve moaned as he thrust up into Bucky's hand. The sound surrounded them in the darkness, twice as loud as it would have been in the light of day. “Yes. Gods. It’s all I want.”

 _Me too._ “Then make your hand useful and get yourself ready for me.” Bucky let go of Steve and grabbed his own cock, pumping it roughly. It didn't take long to swell in his hand; he’d already waited half the night.

The bed creaked underneath them as Steve shifted, and the sound of his fingers popping out of his mouth covered in spit filled the air. Steve's panting a moment later let Bucky know he was working at least one finger inside himself. That knowledge had Bucky beyond breathless and impatient. He reached out, groping for Steve in the dark, working over the hard muscle of his chest again. He ran his hands on Steve's thighs, the need to feel as much of his body as possible overwhelming. His hand came back to Steve’s heavy, dripping cock, and Bucky groaned as he ran a finger around the top of Steve's dick. Steve shuddered at the touch.

“You’re already there, aren’t you?” Bucky murmured, pressing closer to Steve, letting the darkness cover their tangle of limbs. With the moon behind rain clouds and the room without light, it didn’t matter how little space remained between them. No one could judge. “Gods, you’re this close just from getting ready.”

“Yes,” Steve whimpered, the one word so broken that it had Bucky thrusting against Steve’s hips lest he explode.  

Bucky coated his fingers in the dampness leaking from Steve’s cock and smeared it over his own, letting Steve use his hand to help guide him to the right spot. When he breached Steve’s entrance, he groaned. “You’re so tight.”

Steve took it as an insult. “I’m _fine_ ,” he growled, and pushed back, taking Bucky in deeper.

The rough press of Steve's tight muscle on Bucky's cock had Bucky seeing stars. It took a moment for him to catch his breath before he pushed all the way in on a ragged exhale.

“Gods, Steve, you’re so good.” Steve was warmer than a sunny day and his skin was slippery with sweat under Bucky’s fingers. Bucky couldn't stop touching him. He didn't need to see to feel Steve's broad back, to run his hands down Steve's sides to his perfect hips and to cup his firm ass, giving it a squeeze. "So good." 

“Just fuck me!” Steve ground back against Bucky again, his ass on Bucky’s hips, and Bucky was beyond content to oblige.

He grabbed Steve’s hips and fucked him. The rush of the day, the assassin, and the King’s death blurred together with the frustration he felt at their wedding and the way Steve’s eyes had gone dark when Bucky made him kneel during their duel. The way Steve fucked him on their gods-be-damned wedding night. The way they were stuck together for the rest of their lives.

“I hate. _Everything._ You stand for.” Each fragment of Bucky’s sentence was punctuated with a frantic thrust and Steve slamming back against him, their skin slapping together in the dark.

Steve bobbed his head, the smell of his sweat in Bucky’s nose and his hair tickling at Bucky’s collarbone. “Everything,” he agreed, his breathing going rough as he fisted himself. “ _Fuck._ ”

Bucky winced as Steve came, his muscles clamping down even tighter on his already too sensitive cock. Sudden, overwhelming warmth gathered in his groin, and Bucky swore sparks lit up the room as he pushed in deeper, filling Steve with his seed.

Their breathing was the only sound in the room, loud and harsh before it quieted into nothing. Bucky was struck with a desire to stay like that, to have his limbs wrapped around Steve's all night. He grunted and forced himself to slide out of Steve. Clearly, the urge to hold Steve was just his reaction to the lovely relaxation of his release. Bucky grabbed the corner of the blanket, and wiped away whatever wetness he could feel. Steve had already rolled over, silent.

They fell asleep in a mess of twisted blankets and sweat.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“We have to be prepared for the worst.” Thor’s voice echoed through the hall as he stood in front of the golden throne with Loki at his side.

Leaning against the wall, Steve folded his arms as he watched the crowd of people packed in the room hang on Thor’s every word.

“Early scouting reports have come back with sightings of Hela’s armies crossing from our Western shore. She has already lead her armies on Cobalt Landing.” Thor looked grimly around the room, his eyes sparking as intense as any spring thunderstorm. “Therefore, each house shall supply us with three fourths of their Knights and fighters. The rest of you are given leave to go back and tend to your lands.” He paused. “But be prepared to fight, wherever you are.”

Nervous titters filled the room, gloom rolling through the hall like the storm clouds spreading across the sky outside. Travel was not going to be easy for anyone.

People cleared out of the hall in groups, clusters of families preparing for their goodbyes. Steve spotted Bucky giving his sister a hug, kissing his nephews on the heads, and shaking his brother-in-law’s hand.

Sam intercepted Steve halfway. “They’ll agree to let your father and mother go back to your lands if I stay on behalf of your House.”

“Sam, what about your mother?”

“My dad’s staying here as a surgeon, and your father has agreed to take my mother in. Don’t try to fight me on this, Steve. They’re going to need every surgeon and medic they can get.” Sam stared Steve down, daring him to speak.

“You’re absolutely right, Sam.” Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Gods know I’ll appreciate it when you’re sewing me up in a week or two.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think so soon?”

“She’s already had an assassin and a messenger here. We were always running at a disadvantage.”

They crossed over to where his parents were speaking with Lord Maxwell.

“Have a safe trip back, and give us word of your mother,” Steve’s mother said.

“Thank you, Lady Sarah. I will send a message along as soon as I’m able.” Maxwell gave a little bow.

“And leaving your three sons to fight for the King. Well. I understand how that feels,” Steve’s father added, glancing at Steve.

Maxwell inclined his head, watching Steve. “Helen always had grand plans for them, telling me her dreams for them when I met her. Our time together was too brief.”

“Yes,” Steve said. Maxwell’s stare made his skin itch. “She passed away from a rather sudden failing of the heart, didn’t she?”

“It was a shame,” he agreed. With a small smile, he added, “The greatest shame of my life, indeed, even including the fact that your family didn’t entertain my offer for your marriage back before I knew her. And now look who you ended up with.”

Steve’s polite smile faded. “It is what it is.”

“Indeed.” Lord Maxwell gave his final goodbyes, turning to leave through the stone archway.

When Maxwell left, Steve felt as though he could breathe again. The next thing he knew, he was wrapped up in a gentle but firm hug.

His mother’s eyes were shining. “Not one day married and already fighting assassins. Steven Rogers. You’re a grown man, but someday you need to consider sparing your poor mother’s heart.” She smiled and shook her head. “And yet again, your father and I have reason to be proud of you.”

“Thank you. Take good care of Sam’s mother.” Steve gave his father a handshake and his mother another hug. “With any luck, I’ll be home…” Steve cut himself off. Gave himself a little shake as he remembered _Bucky_. Home was no longer home. “I’ll be able to visit soon.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky waved one last time to Becca outside on the castle grounds. The skies were dark and the wind gusted from time to time, but the rain had tapered off. Families were setting out for home as fast as they could pack their carts and wagons and prepare their horses.

He sighed as he turned, a single drop of rain breaking free from the clouds above. Bucky waited, but the storm did not follow. As he headed along the path back towards the castle, he passed Thor and Loki sending off the Wakandan envoy. He paused for a moment, studying them. M’Baku had fought with Steve and fought well from the sound of it. Now he was rolling his eyes and grinning as he watched Okoye chide Princess Shuri about wearing her ceremonial traveling cloak.

And then they, too, were gone, and Bucky was nearly back to the castle. People bustled around amidst the clangs of the blacksmiths preparing weapons and armor, and the calls as battlesquads were thrust into training. Bucky paused, watching a young knight adjust his armor and stand at attention before his squad leader. It wasn’t Bucky’s first time waiting for a battle; he’d found himself in conflict against House Rogers more than a few times.

But it was his first war.

Clint caught him inside before he had gone very far. “So how’s married life treating you?” He grinned as he dropped his voice. “You do know what you’re doing, right? Need any tips?”

“Ass.”

They rounded the corner to find Natasha leaning against the stone wall, waiting. She looked up from inspecting her fingernails. “C’mon guys. Some of the scouts have gotten back and Thor is talking about sending out a team. His Royal Majesty requests your presence.”

Bucky grumbled as he fell in step behind her. “They marry me off to my worst enemy, just to have me turn around and fight theirs? I’m getting the feeling that the royal family has a desire to send me to an early death.”

“Your skills are in demand.” Natasha grinned, a twin of Clint’s earlier smile. “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

“Don’t tell him that! I offered to give him pointers for his marriage,” Clint told Natasha as they walked. “He was just about to agree.”

Ema stood guard outside the door, waving them through with her spear. Inside, Thor sat at the head of the room, glaring at Loki. Several men and women sat around the table. Bucky saw Steve and Sam sat to the side, looking uncomfortable.

“And I say our father would have wanted us to preserve as many lives as possible.” Loki gestured towards the castle wall.

“And wait for her to gather more strength and attack again?” Thor shook his head. “No. Maybe if she had sent a messenger to talk terms of succession instead of an assassin. Maybe if she had requested a parlay before attacking Cobalt Landing. We need to demand her surrender to avoid further bloodshed.”

Bucky filed in with Clint and Natasha, chancing a glance at Steve, who gestured at the King and Prince with a shrug and half an eye roll.

“Your Majesty,” an advisor tried, speaking from his seat near Steve. Thor paused and looked over, as if remembering that there were others in the room. “Would you like to send a negotiator in your place?”

“And risk it being someone who is not me? I think not.” Thor pulled a hand through his hair. “Let’s ride to meet her and have it out with this parlay. This talk is wearing me down and who knows, maybe she’ll give me a chance to hit something with my hammer.” He turned to Bucky. “I’d like you and Sir Steven to helm a squadron. You both have experience. I need that.”

Bucky held Thor’s gaze. “Why not have us bring up a group each? You get twice as many squads.”

Thor shook his head. “Your experience is in fighting against the Rogers family. His experience is against your family. Therefore, the two of you can hopefully bring your knowledge together.”

Bucky swore he saw a sparkle of mirth in Thor’s eyes. He _knew_ he saw one in Loki’s. He tensed, ready to speak his mind again.

“We’ll do it,” Steve cut him off with his reply. “Your Majesty.”

Loki clapped his hands together in delight, and Bucky considered how broken up Thor might be if Loki was accidentally injured in a battle.

“Great. Now let’s talk forces.” Thor looked around the room. “Lady Sif, you will prepare your warriors?”

Lady Sif nodded, her long brown hair sliding over her shoulders.

“And Bryn, the Valkyries?” Thor met Bryn’s scowl.

“Sir. Your Majesty.” Bryn swallowed, but her voice was strong. “As I have told Prince Loki several times, the Valkyries disbanded the day your father forced many of us to our deaths to beat back your sister to her banishment.” She lowered her eyes to the ground for a moment before looking back to Loki. “I’m sorry.”

“What is is what is,” Thor declared. “Volstagg. Fandral. Hogun. Are you prepared to lead forces to battle?”

“Aye, sir. Your Majesty.” Fandral spoke for the three, a smile on his lips.

“Good. Now. I’ve had the grooms prepare our horses.” Thor met each person’s eyes. “My scouts came back with her position just an hour ago and I’d like to meet her before dusk.” He dismissed the room to reconvene at the stables.

Bucky hung back to scowl at Steve as they exited.

“Isn’t agreeing to command a squad the sort of matter you should have discussed with your husband in private first?” Bucky asked as they walked back down the hallways. He scowled his way past tapestries and gold sconces.

“What is there to discuss?” Steve gestured to Thor striding some twenty paces ahead of them. “His asking was a formality and you knew it as well as I.”

“So you’re not going to fight it? You’re going to bow to him like you’re his beloved dog?” Bucky could have melted ice with his glare.

“I’m going to _fight_ for what’s most important. And right now, I believe that to be the Kingdom,” Steve said as he kept his gaze ahead, off of Bucky. “It would be helpful if you did the same.”

Bucky pursed his lips, willing back his rage. “Maybe if the Kingdom didn’t require me to give up my family for a man who as recently as last month was plotting to kill them.”

Steve didn’t stop, but he did hesitate for a long step. He didn’t say anything for several longer strides. When he turned towards Bucky, it was almost impossible to place the emotion on his face. “It was nothing personal. You would have done the same to mine.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that the royal family has no clue what we’ve gone through. They’ve no regard for their people!” Bucky wasn’t shouting, but people were turning to look at him as they passed by. Steve glanced ahead to see if Thor had stopped to listen, but he was already at the stables, checking on his mount. Bryn paused, looking impatient, and Steve waved her to go ahead, that they’d catch up in a moment.

“Their regard was for the people dying between our family’s blades.” Steve spoke so quietly Bucky had to lean in to hear. Steve’s hair still smelled of sweat and the sun, even though outside it was so gray it seemed like the clouds were touching the ground.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re content to take the punishment on behalf of everyone who fought. We are no more culpable than they are!” Frustration banded around Bucky’s chest, and he would have appreciated if the sky could open up and wash away some of his anger. It didn’t.

Steve looked Bucky in the eye and offered the smallest smile Bucky had ever seen, a wisp of a thing like a single blade of grass growing under spring snow. “No, but at least they had the good sense to sacrifice me to the most handsome member of the Barnes household.”

Bucky blinked, ready to put a finger in his ear and check for some sort of blockage. Certainly he hadn’t heard Steve “the bastard” Rogers saying something complimentary? But Steve was already waving him on, tilting his head toward the stables.

“Now come on,” Steve called back, striding towards his waiting horse. “Let’s see for ourselves if this is an enemy worth fighting against.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve didn’t look back to see if Bucky was following, but he heard begrudging footsteps behind him as he reached the stables.

“Everything ok between you two?” Sam asked as he guided his dark bay courser towards Steve.

“As well as it will be.” Steve patted Raynor’s neck, smiling when the horse huffed at him and nuzzled his hand. He adjusted his pack and mounted his horse, trying not to watch as Bucky did the same. He looked over to the front of their group.

 

 

On his huge buckskin destrier, Thor looked the part of a King chosen by the Gods as he towered over all of them from his saddle. He gave the signal, and the group began to ride under a misty, weeping cover of clouds. In no time, the clouds swallowed up the castle behind them, and grayness settled around everything, contorting trees into grasping shadows and converting fields into silt and muck as they rode by.

Despite the obscuring mist and thick mud, it became obvious in the fifth hour of their ride that they were coming up on an army encampment. A few smoking fires swirled in the air, and the din of warriors moving, shouting, and training rang out above the wind.

The reality of the pending war loomed like a black wall as Steve began to make out shapes of giant trebuchets beyond those enemy lines. They stopped about three hundred yards away, and Steve kept his shield at the ready, wary of a loose arrow.

“How has she managed any of this?” Steve asked no one. The persistent chill had settled into his bones, and he had no clue how Loki was still riding without a cloak.

His question remained unanswered. Thor called for everyone to be at the ready as a figure emerged from the campgrounds and mist, a warrior wearing black plated armor and a black horned helmet. She was surrounded by several tall guards. Bones tied to their armor rattled in the wind.

“Brothers. You look scared.”

“Hela.” Thor’s voice carried through the mists. He dismounted and stepped forward. “You’ve done well for yourself, considering father left you with exactly nothing but your name.”

Steve kept his hand on his sword, ready to charge if need be. The fog broke over Hela’s guards, giving them an eerie glow.

“I’ve always been the resourceful child. Father liked me best. Until he didn’t.” She smiled under the helmet. “I’m here to fix that. Are you here to help?”

“You’re not welcome here, sister. I’m here to offer you terms of surrender.”

Hela turned back towards her army, pretending to study the size of her forces. She laughed. “For the sake of your pride, I hope you are referring to your surrender. I plan to march across this Kingdom like a cleansing storm.”

Behind Steve, Bucky’s horse whinnied.

“Give it up, Hela,” Thor commanded. Lightning broke from the sky when he spoke, a crack of thunder following shortly after. “Lay down your weapons. Disband your army.”

She inclining her head. “Your words are lost in the winds. Kneel and be spared, or fight and be prepared to die to the last.”

With a loud bellow, the guards beside her raised their weapons. Steve leaned forward, heels ready to dig into Raynor’s sides.

Thor stood tall, only his hair moving as it caught the wind.

Hela raised an eyebrow. “Then I will see you at my castle, brother. Take good care of it for me.”

“I look forward to welcoming you home.” Thor strode back to his horse, giving the command for the group to fall back.

Steve wheeled Raynor around as he glanced back at Hela. Her gaze on Thor was calm and confident as she faded into the mist as they rode. Somewhere, Steve swore he heard the howl of a wolf. Only then did the clouds stop holding back, pouring down drenching rains the whole ride back.

 

~ ★ ~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warm thank you to everyone enjoying the read! It has made my week to read all of the wonderful comments you guys have left! Holy crap! It's just awesome. :)  
> The final five chapters will go up next week, Monday through Friday. See you all there!! <3

Bucky ran a piece of cloth down the length of his blade. His knee bounced, and he paused, steadying the sword. “Natasha was supposed to report back by nightfall.”

“It’s not much later than that,” Steve said without looking up.

Sitting on the only bench in the room, Steve was pressed thigh to thigh with Bucky along the back wall of the tiny commanding officer's bunker. His candle burned low as he studied a record of the castle’s fortifications. The parchment was spread out across the table in front of the bench.

“Yes, well, Clint will never let me hear the end of it if she doesn’t come back.” Bucky couldn’t keep his knee from bouncing, even though it made cleaning his sword a pain. “This sitting and waiting is beyond me. Hela’s out there, we’re in here.” He put down the cloth and sword for a moment and made a fist, smashing it into his other hand.

“You’d rather charge blade first into your death?” Steve’s tone lacked its usual icy bite. “Thor put us in charge of the northwestern fortifications. Let’s try to protect those.” He gestured to the parchment in front of him. “Though if they get the aim right on their trebuchets, I worry that none of this will matter.”

Bucky ran the cloth over smooth metal one more time before sheathing the sword and leaning it against the wall. He scooted over to look at the table, crowding even closer to Steve. “Sorry.”

Steve grunted at the apology and didn’t seem to react to the closeness.

“Look.” Steve pointed at the drawings. “We can fill the battlements with our squadrons here. There’s ample space for archers, and they have some of the best designed protection for the archers. I haven’t seen this design since I fought at—”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you were at the fight against my uncle’s fortress three years ago. King Odin brought him to the castle to design these defenses.”

Steve scowled. “We lost a lot of good men to arrows.”

They tapered off into silence. Bucky watched the melting wax drip down the side of the candle stump, and the silence settled around them like a heavy cloud.

“But it was my fault,” Steve finally said. “I was in charge of researching the fortifications of his keep.” He glanced down at the table, not making eye contact.

Bucky fought the urge to put his hand on Steve’s chin and force him to look. He settled for a shrug, pretending that they hadn’t just dismissed the Battle of Brightglass as _losing a lot of good men to arrows._ “Then _learn_ from your gods-be-damned mistakes, Steve. And in this case, you have the benefit of being on the right side of the defenses this time. You can thank me after the battle.”

Even with candlelight, it was too dark to make out many details on the paper, so Bucky watched the small flicker of light play on Steve’s face. Steve was so earnest, looking down and studying as though his tutor would spring a test on him at any moment. Granted, a green army unused to large scale war was about to be tested against live arrows and steel. Maybe the concentration was warranted.

Shadows danced on Steve’s lips, casting impressions bouncing between a smile and a frown, a sly turn of the corner of his mouth, a nervous bite of his lower lip. Bucky licked his lips as he realized how close they were, slotted up against each other on a bench just big enough for two. Thor had apologized for routing them from their beautiful guest rooms, but Bucky had agreed—they needed to be in the northwest battlements if they were going to take command of a squad there.

He didn’t look over to the corner of the room, to the bed big enough for one.

Steve shifted next to him, grumbling about something, but Bucky didn’t hear it. Steve’s shoulder brushed against his, and it stirred something deep in Bucky's chest, a sudden urge to be closer to him. Bucky leaned in and pressed a kiss to Steve's lips, wondering if Steve would kiss back or push him away.

Looking up with eyes wide, Steve choked back a sound and let Bucky kiss him.

Half a knock rang out, and Clint entered the room before the sound had faded.

“You ought to see if the bolt works,” he commented as Bucky pushed away from Steve, bumping his leg against the table and almost knocking over the candle.

“Thanks for knocking.” Bucky focused his glare on Clint.

Clint didn’t glance Bucky’s way, just reached out and straightened the candle. “Natasha’s not back yet.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” Bucky wanted to peek over at Steve and see what emotion his face had settled on. He didn’t know what he hoped to see, so he didn't.

“Scouts have already returned with reports that several of Hela’s trebuchets will require some extensive repairs before they’ll be suitable for war.” Clint sighed. “Which is great. It really is. But I’d like Natasha back, too.”

“She was the best choice for the job,” Steve offered. He turned that earnest charm towards Clint, and Bucky scowled before he could help it. How dare Steve comfort Clint? Clint wasn’t Steve’s friend.

“Again, great. Really. But that doesn’t give you free rein to sacrifice her for the greater good, or whatever speech you’ve got planned.” Clint made himself at home, sitting on the only other usable surface. “Nice bed. Little bit small for the two of you, isn’t it?”

Steve nodded, but Bucky wasn’t sure if he was agreeing about Natasha or the bed. His cock perked up at the thought of sharing the bed tonight. Bucky’s scowl deepened as his body betrayed him, yet again.

“If she’s not back in the morning and we haven’t had any signals, we’ll assume she’s being held captive and act on that. Ok?” Bucky gripped his sword and then willed himself to let go of the sheath. “You know we can’t start charging out there blade first. Getting all of us killed before we even get to her. She’d probably curse us from whichever tree she decided to camp out in for the night.” Bucky ignored the way Steve leaned towards him as he parroted Steve's words from earlier.

Bucky got up off the bench, and put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, trying to offer a moment of comfort.

“It’s raining,” said Clint. “Heavily.”

The wind buffeted against the castle walls with a sharp howl, as if it was just waiting to be acknowledged.

Bucky sighed. “Yeah. It’s a war. We’re all going to get a little wet. Go get some rest, Clint. We’re going to face an attack soon and we need to be prepared.”

Clint’s nod was slow, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to agree or yell. But he left, and then Steve and Bucky were alone again.

The candle went out, sending the room into quiet darkness. When Steve went to relight it, Bucky grabbed his hand. “I was talking to you too, Steve. We can’t have everyone half asleep when she decides to press the attack. Let’s get some sleep.”

Steve’s hand stiffened in his grasp and Bucky waited for him to pull away, but he didn’t. He got up, pushing away from the table. It was near black as they undressed, but there was only one direction to fall in as they got into the bed designed for a single officer. Bucky scrunched up against the wall and Steve lay on the other side trying to pretend that he wasn’t about to fall off the thin mattress.

Despite the lack of space, there was something comforting about being forced to stay in contact with Steve’s soft skin and hard muscle. The warmth of another human, even if it was _Steve,_ eased Bucky into a dreamless sleep _._

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve scanned the horizon, peering from the battlements past clouds and gloom and the few rays of sunlight that had started to climb up from behind him. The blackbirds began a tentative song There wasn’t a hint of Natasha’s signal to be seen. Steve stepped back, lest he give a sharp archer a chance to practice shooting. Bucky and Clint met him as he climbed down.

“You don’t see it either.” Clint tilted his head, working his neck as though a rock had settled in between his shoulders. “Not even three days into the siege. Gods-be- _damned._ ”

“It’s morning now, Clint. The third morning.” Bucky’s attempt at good natured teasing bounced off of Clint’s ironclad glare.

“So let’s go make some plans to kick Hela’s ass and finish this up before it really drags on.” Clint turned as he talked, heading down to the stairs, and Steve and Bucky followed. Steve glanced over his shoulder one last time as the mist converted into a dull drizzle.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve and Bucky had breakfast with the squad, a group of men gathered from around the Kingdom. Gabriel and Dugan were both from the Vale, Falsworth hailed from Stone Bridge, and Jim left behind his house in Roseport to join the King’s army.

“You don’t have this for breakfast where I’m from,” Jim noted, spooning some cooked oats out of his bowl. “We’re right on the water. We have fresh fish three times a day.”

“Sounds as boring as fucking the same person twice.” Dugan slapped the table and laughed, but even his booming laughter thudded against the somber air in the room.

A horn sounded half way through breakfast and every person in the room paused, hesitating with spoons in their hands and bowls halfway to the table. They all waited, listening. Steve watched one of the youngest men on their squad bow his head in silent prayer, his pale lips trembling.

The horn sounded again, long and low, letting everyone know that the attack was heading towards the southwest battlement.

“Finish your breakfast,” Steve commanded the men, projecting a strength and calm that only went skin deep. “You are not to go running and getting in the way.” He took a deep, quiet breath, thinking of the men on the other edge of the castle forming up and taking to the walls. “We don’t leave our post.”

Next to him, Bucky picked at his meal. Steve couldn’t blame him, not when he wanted to disregard his own words and go charging down the southwest battlements.

A runner came in as the men were cleaning up their breakfast dishes, bringing news of Hela’s first attacks.

“She’s sent up archers and some crews to test the grounds. No grave damage for our forces. The dark lady’s hell machines are up and running but their aim is faulty, m’lord.”

“Thank you.” Steve dismissed the young boy and pressed his lips together, breathing.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The morning’s drills were performed under a cover of cloud and gloomy mist. Steve led the men through the motions on the dirt ground inside the castle grounds while Bucky sat on the stone path and sifted through a pile of reports of the enemy’s camp.

Steve looked around. Less than a week ago, the grounds had been alive with traveling merchants and families and sunshine. The smell of roasted meat had hung in the air. Now men in military uniforms squished through the mud, practicing to avoid slipping to their deaths up on the walls.

The sun rose behind thick clouds. The dark slate of the morning slowly shifted into a lighter gray. No more horns sounded. Steve dismissed the men to wall preparations and headed over to Bucky.

Steve regarded the pile of reports around Bucky and paused before offering him a hand to stand.

Bucky took his hand, standing up from the stones. “It seems to me that she spent the last twenty years preparing for this exact moment. We’re like a hart at bay. And we never knew we were being hunted.”

The stood there a moment longer than needed, their fingers lingering as Steve fought the urge to pull Bucky in closer, to smell the rain woven through his braid. He shoved that thought down to sort out later. They had to make a rescue plan and present it to the King for approval.

A rumble of thunder in the distance had Steve looking up to the sky. “We should take these inside.”

“Best idea you’ve had all morning,” Clint said, pausing to catch his breath as he showed up three steps behind Steve.

Steve spared him a half-glance before heading through the courtyard towards the mud-covered stairs.

“Hey!” Clint called. “All of those arrows didn’t shoot themselves. I need a moment!”

 

~ ★ ~

 

“It all depends on how many many points she’s going to attack at the same time.” Bucky looked over the reports again, arranging parchments across the small table. “We’re estimating her forces to be large, but if she tries to poke, we’ll wear them down before long.”

Clint thumped a finger on a large drawing of the giant trebuchets their scouts had noted in Hela’s camp. “I suspect she had planned on these beauties doing a sizeable chunk of the work.”

“With reports of at least half of them dismantled, she’s going to have to be much more cautious.” Steve stretched out as far as he dared on the bench in their room. With Bucky’s gods-be-damned thigh against his, Steve’s mind wandered south for a long moment before “impending war” brought him back to his senses. He shuffled on the bench, breaking the contact between them.

“When she brings everyone forward for the push, we should be able to slip in a group behind her lines,” Bucky said, tracing a line on a map of the castle and the surrounding grounds. He moved as he traced until their thighs touched again. “We send them to the Rosewoods to wait and then it’s just a matter of finding her and getting her out.”

Clint stepped back from the table as if to get a better perspective of the map. “You really think she’s being kept alive?”

Steve noticed the quiet way Clint asked the question, and it tugged at his heart like a misstrung bow. It would be nice to have someone care for him like that. He didn’t try to move his leg away from Bucky again.

Bucky nodded. “Given the assassin and messenger Hela sent and the parlay? She likes the pageantry. She’d keep her as a bargaining move first and use her as a dramatic warning second.”

“You’d better be right.”

“This is no different than the time I got Scott out of—” Bucky cut himself off, but it was too late.

Steve’s eyes widened as he slammed a fist down on the table. “That was _you_?” he all but roared, and Clint took a step forward, ready to get between them.

“What was me, Steve?”

“Don’t play the fool with me!” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling. There were cobwebs in the corner. “Four summers back, we had your cousin with us as he awaiting a trial for the murder—”

“Don’t you dare imply it was anything but your dungeons that you kept him in.” Bucky stood and met his glare. “If you’re going to play high and mighty, you best be able to back it up with your family’s actions. Which were anything but.”

“He disappeared from our _dungeons_ without a trace, showing up a year later as though nothing had happened.” Steve watched the fire in Bucky’s eyes burn.

Bucky didn’t back down, staring across the closing space between them. “Yes. Because your family had no jurisdiction at Wildecrest.”

“Neither did yours.”

Clint shoved his hand between the two of them. “And none of that shit helps with what we’re dealing with right now.” He pushed Bucky on the chest, forcing him to sit back down.

Steve thumped back down on the bench, his heart loud in his ears. The maps and reports in front of him blurred together, and he put his face in his hands. Of course his husband was well versed in rescue operations.

He let Clint and Bucky iron out the details. His head hurt. He could really use some wine. Or at the very least, a husband who hadn’t sprung into existence twenty-five years ago to undermine his family.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve had put his head in his hands and shut up, so Bucky ignored him and focused on helping Clint identify the best people for the mission.

“There we go. I’ll run this by the King, but I can’t see him denying the request. Thanks, Bucky.” Clint paused, glancing at Steve. “Steve.”

“Yeah.” Steve lifted his head up from the table. His eyes were dark, like he needed a good night’s rest.

Or a good fucking.

Bucky would have glared at himself if he could’ve when the intrusive thought worked its way up. He settled for a quiet sigh.

“You two good? Or are you going to rip each other to shreds the moment I leave the room? Or is the ripping reserved for your clothes only?” Clint’s eyes sparkled like gods-be-damned gems as he added, “Just let me turn around first.”

Bucky’s next sigh wasn’t as quiet. “Go on.” He waved to the door. “Let me know how Thor responds. Steve and I will eat with the squad and run them through afternoon drills.”

Steve, thankfully, just nodded.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Outside, the sun’s rays had speared through a few of the clouds, casting faint, odd shadows from the trees and walls. The men made more than a few mistakes, as if the sudden bit of brightness was more distracting than the endless gray and rain of the past few days.

Steve corrected Falsworth’s form and had the squad reposition, guiding them with simple commands. They took to it, falling into formation with relative ease compared to their last attempt.

“Good. Now rotate to the back and let’s get the second line up here. This is how you get a moment to rest, and this is how we will protect our Kingdom! For Midgard!”

When the men nodded and called out their response, the sun surged out from behind the clouds. It was warm on Bucky’s face, and for a moment he was able to relax, bringing his shoulders down. Steve dismissed the men to afternoon chores and turned towards the wood piles without so much as a glance at Bucky.

Bucky paused and then jogged to catch up. Fucking hells, but the man was his husband. Maybe he needed to try harder, somehow.

Steve reached the piles a good five paces before Bucky, striding towards them with purpose reflected in his hips. Bucky watched as Steve took an axe and began chopping wood, choosing the largest pieces and splitting them as surely as if they were apples.

The sun glinted off of Steve’s axe as he raised it again, bringing it down on the next block of wood in one smooth swing. Even through the thick cloth of the military uniform, his muscles bulged.

Bucky had a sudden desire for the rains to start up again and help cool him off.

“What’re you skulking around for?” Steve asked as he moved the wood into the stack and grabbed another chunk to split.

“I’m not skulking.” Bucky grabbed a piece of the wood from the stack. “This wood is soaked through.”

“It’s been raining.” Steve grunted as he swung the axe down again, sweat sparkling around on his forehead.

They lapsed into silence, their axes thudding into wood like a badly timed waltz. The silence stretched on as the clouds swallowed the sun and the rain began to fall again, a soft, steady drizzle. The silence lasted through the evening meal, and it lasted past Clint coming by to confirm that Thor had given them leave to put their plan into motion.

It lasted until Bucky blew out the candle in their room and Steve attacked him, pushing him through the darkness onto the bed and tearing off his clothes.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve fumbled in the dark as he ripped at Bucky’s clothes. He pinned down Bucky’s arm. “I’ll let go. Don’t stick your dagger in my back.”

Steve straddled Bucky’s waist, one leg against the wall and the other hanging off the bed.

“You know me so well, _husband._ ” Bucky was as hard as a fucking stone, rocking his hips against Steve’s legs.

“So drop the fucking dagger.”

At the sound of metal clanging to the floor, Steve loosened his grip on Bucky’s arm. Bucky didn’t move his arm from its place on the bed, and Steve yanked at his pants, trying to pull them down.

“Fucking clothes.” Steve settled for pulling down his pants before turning his attention back to Bucky.

“I’m honored, I really am,” Bucky said from underneath him. “You’ve said more to me in the last few moments than you have all afternoon.”

Steve grunted, finding the laces to Bucky’s pants and ripping them almost straight off. Bucky tilted up his hips, his cock grinding against Steve’s thigh again. Steve grabbed it, pumping roughly until Bucky squirmed so sweetly between his legs.

A horn sounded in the distance, muffled by stone walls and the wooden door, but unmistakable in its meaning.

“Blood and fucking damnation!” Steve swore as he rutted against Bucky’s warm skin. He closed his eyes even though it was dark, holding onto the moment for as long as he dared.

Bucky let out a little groan, reached up and grabbed at Steve, pulling him closer, both of them trying to ignore the inevitable.

The horn sounded again, three short blasts that had Steve cursing every god he could think of as he got off of Bucky, swinging his leg around and shoving his half-hard dick in his pants. He crossed the room as Bucky pulled his pants back up. Steve opened the door, light from a nearly burned out candle in its sconce streaming into their room.

Before they could even begin forming the men into ranks, the horn blew again.

“I guess she’s going all out tonight,” Bucky said. The candlelight seemed brighter than ever and Bucky wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He reminded the men to keep moving as they emerged from the barracks, stunned and noisy, armor clanking and weapons being hoisted almost as a cohesive whole.

Steve heaved a breath and nodded, waving the men forward. “Keep going. Get up there. Watch for anyone trying to climb the wall. Protect the archers. Get them their arrows.”

A loud crash echoed from further down along the wall, and men started shouting.

“There’s the one trebuchet Natasha didn’t dismantle.” Bucky touched the sheath of his sword. “Clint should be here any moment to cover me. I need to get around to the woods.”

Steve’s throat tightened for a moment, a sudden image of Bucky being spotted and taken down by a sharpshooting archer rendering him unable to speak. Since when did he care about the bastard?

“Get up with with the squad, Steve. They need your command.” Bucky glanced up at the battlements. “That was never my strength. I’m going to go skulk in the shadows and hope they didn’t leave too many guards at the perimeter.”

Steve nodded. _Be careful_ came to mind, but what he said was, “Try not to take an arrow to the knee.” He turned and jogged up the steps before Bucky could reply.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The Rosewoods were dark, with tall, towering trees that blocked out most of the scant moonlight that managed to break through the cloud cover. Bucky crept forward just inside the treeline, fingers wrapped around the medallion in his pocket, which would hopefully reflect enough moonlight to give his position to Clint if needed.

Leaves rustled underfoot, but were drowned out by shouting, horns, drums, and the occasional sickening _ca-thunk_ of the trebuchet. Bucky kept an ear out for anyone else lurking in the darkness of the trees.

The noise provided a good sense of direction as he moved away from the loudest shouts to the west, navigating by a rudimentary remembrance of the forest, the intermittent visible stars, and a good helping of luck.

When campfires began to dot the horizon, he knew his target grew closer. Hand curved around the hilt of his sword, he shuffled forward as silently as possible. The battle rang in the distance, though not nearly as loud here, and there were only so many nighttime animals to frame for an errant stick snap.

Reports had noted at least two patrols and several sentries around Hela’s warcamp. Bucky scanned the area as best he could while still under the cover of the forest. Either the soldiers were so well hidden that he couldn’t find half of them, or the guard was eased, every man possible brought to the fight.

Bucky let out a slow, quiet breath, the image of Steve leading the men to fight back on the wall floating in front of him. He sent up a prayer to the gods that they were holding out.

A stick cracked to the left and Bucky spun on a light foot, his daggers out and ready to face whatever was in the woods with him.

“Put your blades away, Bucky.” Natasha’s voice came through the darkness and Bucky squinted, trying to make out her form between the trees. The moon poked through just long enough to confirm red hair and a vaguely Natasha-like form.

He sheathed his weapons and sighed. “Should’ve known you could take care of yourself, Nat.”

“We need to move.” Her voice was already disappearing into the darkness. “Thanks to the fighting, they only left me with three guards. But someone’s going to find those bodies eventually.”

Bucky paused for just a moment, shifting through the sounds crashing in the night. One sound was conspicuously absent. “Did you get the trebuchet?”

He could almost feel her grin vibrating through the forest despite the silence of her footsteps. Then another stick cracked behind him, and Bucky whirled around, daggers out and catching the flash of steel slicing toward his face.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve jogged down the wall, willing his feet to stay firm on the slick stone. “Good work, Gabriel,” he called out. Gabe gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he beat back a heavily armed man trying to breach the wall.

Around them, the others struggled to lift a huge pot of hissing hot oil, pouring it down on ropes and ladders that sprung up on the wall like persistent weeds. Below, Hela's men howled unearthly screams of pain.

Further down the wall, Steve spotted fighting on the ground. More of Hela’s army was trying to swarm over an unfortunate patrol that had tried to slip back to the castle unseen. The patrol group was fighting back, but they were outnumbered more than five to one. One of Hela’s soldiers swung his giant sword, cutting into a defender. The patrolman crumpled to the ground, and Steve saw red.

The next thing he knew, he was calling for Dugan to lead the squad and leaping off of the castle wall. He fell through the air and aimed his feet towards one of the attackers. Steve kicked into him, the impact jarring and leaving him breathless, but breaking his fall just enough to prevent injury as they tumbled the rest of the way to the ground.

Hela’s soldiers, dressed in uniforms of black and green, surrounded him as he stood, their momentary shocked pause giving him an opening.

Steve took it, unsheathing his sword and charging forward, taking down two men before they could get their swords up. He spun to the side, blocking blows from two more who had recovered their wits just enough to remember to try to hit him with the pointy end. Steve bellowed, using every muscle in his arm to parry and thrust, forcing them back.

Some of the patrolmen fell in at his back, protecting his flank, and Steve advanced, taking down the next round of men.

“Go for the castle, for safety!” Steve roared, but the men behind him shook their heads.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like fighting for you instead of against you,” panted one. Steve recognized the voice as Lord Rodney Whitley from the hunt, a loyal supporter of the Barnes family. “You saved our lives. Let’s get out of this alive. Together.”

Steve grunted his _you’re welcome_ , turning back to the enemy. He matched them sword for sword, attack for attack, but there were more to take the place of every man who fell in front of their blades.

“I will do this all night if you insist!” Steve shouted into the mess of noises, his voice near indistinguishable from the other calls and cries and the constant cacophony of metal against metal.

He took down another man with a low cut across his front, lunging low to dodge another blade and coming up so close he could see the next man’s brown eyes fill with fear as he shoved his sword through his abdomen.

Everything smelled of blood, smoke, and dirt. Steve wished for the rain. Another set of men took the places of their fallen comrades and from the corner of his eye, Steve saw that Lord Rodney was tiring, barely managing to parry a set of attackers.

“ _Damnation._ ” Steve gasped for a breath, forcing air into his body, forcing himself to move even faster.

It wasn’t going to be enough.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky jumped back, avoiding an overgrown root as his unseen assailant came at him again. He blocked an attack, grunting with the effort. It was near impossible to see this far from the fires of the war camp, so he listened.

A quiet rustling from by a huge tree signaled his attacker, and Bucky ducked back. There was a thud as the blade bounced off bark. The attacker grumbled. With a silent breath, Bucky listened to the leaves crunching. Step, step, step—pause.

Bucky flung his daggers up again to block another attack. He whipped his dagger as hard as he could through the air, grinning in satisfaction when the attacker howled in pain. Leaves crackled as he stumbled backwards.

Bucky’s second dagger followed the sounds for another easy hit, and he drew his sword, advancing on the dark mass in front of him.

“Well, I was going to help, but it seems like you’ve got this,” Natasha noted from behind his shoulder.

Bucky resisted spinning around and putting his blade to her throat, but just barely. “Flaming hells, Nat!”

The attacker groaned beneath them before going silent.

Bucky sighed. “I hate fighting.”

“Lie to me again, and I’ll put my blade in your back.” Her tone was so lighthearted that she had to be smiling.

Bucky scowed.  “Fine. I hate war. Fighting’s not so bad. Especially a good duel.” He kicked at the body in front of him. No response. He grabbed his daggers back, wiping them down on his pants. “But not the killing. That never feels right.”

“But it was okay when it was your House fighting?” Natasha’s question had Bucky wanting to reply with _it was different._

A handful of retorts came to mind, but he held his tongue, and the silence stretching on as they snuck back towards the castle. No matter how Bucky dressed it, the dead bodies were just as dead. Bucky clutched his sword hilt a little tighter, his stomach sour as they came to the edge of the woods.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve’s breathing was the only sound that registered in his mind. His sword danced as an extension of his arm, working on instinct and fueled by anger. But his movements lagged, a lull here and there when he didn’t have time for a mistake. Behind him, Lord Rodney and his two men fought without ceasing, their blades dancing wildly. But it was them only, and the crowd of attackers around them had barely thinned.

Steve raised his sword, ready to take out as many as he could in a final attack. Another horn sounded, a new cadence that lifted him up, seemed to breathe new air into his body. The castle gate, so far behind them, thudded as it opened, and the night was filled with the charging, stomping hooves of cavalry as Lady Sif and her warriors descended onto the field.

Lady Sif lead the charge on her dapple gray destrier, sending her guards streaming in several directions, flowing out like a river of destruction as they ran down men and sliced into them, their swords flashing under the intermittent moon.

Steve could have cried out in relief as Hogun rode through to their group, routing the fighting away from them and giving him a moment to catch his breath. Steve fell to his knees, panting. Lord Rodney and the others surrounded him, their swords raised to ward off any opportunists as Hogun chased down the fleeing men.

“Thank you,” Steve said in between breaths.

The moon broke through the clouds, shining down on the field of dead bodies and Lady Sif and her men swarming the grounds. Lord Rodney stared at Steve, incredulous.

“No need to thank _us_ , Lord Steven.” He bowed, and his men followed suit. “I thought I was having a vision on the moment of my death when I looked up and saw someone jumping off the wall. Your foolhardy tactics saved our lives.”

Steve nodded, still panting. His sides twinged with every movement, and he steadied himself with a hand pressed close to his stomach, willing himself to catch his breath.

The drums behind Hela’s army changed cadence, and her troops began a swift retreat. Steve watched as Lady Sif converged with her warriors in front of the patrolmen and Steve, letting the last scrambling opponents make their way back. Lady Sif turned back to glance at Steve with a smile, though the moonlight distorted it into a frown.

A sharp pain twinged in his side, and he looked down at his hand. Blood covered his fingers, stained his gloves. He touched his stomach again.

 _She is frowning_ , he thought, as he fell forward into the blood-spattered mud.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky blinked as he watched the enemy retreat, several soldiers running past their spot in the woods. Next to him, Natasha tensed, ready in case one of them noticed their position and tried to sound for a rout.

Finally, the last man went by, and Bucky came out of the forest, scanning every direction. The battlefield in front of him was a mess of bodies and two unfortunate horses. He heard Sam shouting in the distance, trying to organise the wounded back to his makeshift surgeon’s tent just inside the castle grounds.

Natasha gave him a pat on the shoulder and a whispered, “Thanks,” as she slipped into the coordinated chaos to find Clint.

Bucky saw a flash of blonde hair highlighted by moonlight and started moving, ignoring bodies as he stalked across the field. His stomach clenched for a reason he couldn't define. There, lying on the ground in the middle of everything, was Steve. Bucky’s heart sank as he started running. Was that Lord Rodney calling for help? Bucky ran faster.

“Sir James! He’s worse off than he let on! We need a surgeon!”

 

 

~ ★ ~


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky paced, but the muddy ground squished beneath his boots, pulling him further down with each step. When he stood still, his fingers tapped on his sword hilt, and his thoughts rushed about in his head.

“...have to admit, I didn’t care for him at all,” Lord Rodney was saying, and Bucky listened with half an ear. “But he jumped off the wall for us without even a second glance. Didn’t care who we were, just that we were outnumbered.”

“Wait.” Bucky turned around, attention fully on Lord Rodney. “He  _leapt_ off of the wall?” That had him torn between disbelief and wanting to march into the surgeon’s tent and finish the job with his hands around Steve’s neck. “Is he daft?”

Lord Rodney gestured, using one hand to demonstrate falling onto the other. “He landed on some of her soldiers, used them to break his fall. I’d have sworn he’d practiced.”

Bucky put a hand on his face and sighed. He huffed out a breath, glancing towards the gray-green tent again. He couldn’t help the yawn as his body reminded him how late it was.

“If you want to rest, I’ll wait here and send a messenger with any news of your husband, Sir James.”

Bucky considered the offer. Did it really matter if he stood outside the tent? If Steve was half-gone, he wouldn’t know whether Bucky was pacing knee-deep in the mud or sleeping on their tiny bed. What would Steve do if their positions were reversed?

There was no need for Bucky to stand waiting. “Thank you, Rodney. That will be fine.” 

He headed to their room, bolting the door behind him and settling into the small bed. In the dark, the stillness of the room became more pronounced without another body to fill the small space between him and the edge of the bed.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Three Sams floated in front of Steve’s eyes against a backdrop of gray canvas. They blurred around the edges before coming together as one. Steve blinked.

“Hold on there,” Sam said, a hand on Steve’s shoulder as Steve tried to sit up. “You had a huge gash. It took awhile to sew. I need you to lie down for now, lest you open it back up. Do you understand?”

Steve nodded, but that split Sam into three again. “No moving,” he managed to agree. His legs hurt, his arms hurt, and his stomach throbbed, pain aching up and down his side with every breath. He closed his eyes. “She win?”

“No, we pushed her back in a retreat. But Thor didn’t order a return attack. There were many wounded.” Sam’s voice was familiar and pleasant, but Steve’s mind reminded him there was someone else to be concerned about. Who was it? “I have to tend to the others. Don’t get up.” Sam’s voice faded as he walked away.

“And Bucky?” Steve asked, but his voice was faint and Sam was already too far away. Steve settled back against a thin, flat pillow and tried not to breathe. Pain and dizziness fought for his attention as he slipped back to sleep.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky surveyed the men as they finished the next morning. Two were unaccounted for still, another handful had some minor injuries, and the rest were okay, if quiet and subdued. Almost no one talked while they ate, and everyone glanced around, braced and waiting for the horns to sound another attack.

There was only silence.

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Bucky realized he ought to say something about Steve, let them all know how he was doing. Lord Rodney’s messenger hadn’t had much of an update when he woke him up just a short while ago.

“He’s gotten a bad wound, but the surgeon feels it is likely to heal within the week if he stays away from fighting.” Bucky managed a grin as he continued, “That’s where I’m going to need you guys to help, because if I’ve learned one thing about Steve, it’s that he never stops fighting.”

That got a half-smile from most of them, and Bucky felt a little lighter as he dismissed them to morning chores and went to find Clint.

Clint was at the armory, working with a handful of fletchers to repair scavenged arrows. Natasha was next to him, sharpening a dagger.

Clint greeted Bucky with a grin. “Even though I guess she didn’t need our help, thanks for trying.”

“You both know I’d give my life for you,” Bucky replied, feeling oddly serious after the events of the night.

Clint pursed his lips, looking puzzled, but then he nodded. Natasha smiled.

“Heard about how Steve is doing,” she said. Her dagger made a skritching sound across the sharpening stone. “Is it true that he jumped off the wall?”

“Yeah. My men say he just vaulted off like he’d done it before.” Bucky shrugged, trying to pretend like it didn't bother him that his husband apparently had a death wish. “I guess he could have. It’s not like we’ve sat down and had a conversation about all of the stupid shit we’ve done in the last several years.”

Clint got up, deposited his batch of arrows into a quiver, and grabbed another arrow from the scavenged pile. He checked the tip and the fletching. “Are you going to go and see him?” He sat back down next to Natasha, and she leaned against him for a moment, an almost unconscious movement.

“I suppose I ought to.” Bucky nodded, more to convince himself than anything else.

Bucky walked, lingering as he watched people rush through the castle, working on everything from repairs to preparing luncheon for the King to rounding up more men to fight in the next battle.

He paused outside on the patch of grass where the Wakandan envoy had stood before heading back to their lands. Would the outcome last night have been different with Wakanda fighting next to them?

Bucky shook his head. Wakanda had no stake in this fight.

The medical tents were calmer now, and Bucky found Sam sitting outside in the grass, drinking from a bucket of water and closing his eyes as he leaned against the tent. Blood spattered his uniform, but his hands were clean.

“Lord Samuel?” Bucky called his name, wondering if he should just slip into the tent and let him sleep.

Sam cracked open an eye and glanced Bucky’s way. “Yeah, you can go visit him. Long as you promise not to rile him up.”

“Can you make him promise the same?” Bucky asked as he pushed aside the tent flap and went inside.

One side of the tent was lined with cots, men and women lying in them in various states of agony. The other side of the tent was calmer, the cots filled with those who needed to be watched for a few more hours.

Steve wasn’t on either side. An attendant waved Bucky over, bringing him to the back of the tent behind a curtain. There were just a few cots there. Bucky didn’t look to see what kept the other two people back here. He looked to Steve, who was lying on his back, a blanket drawn up to his shoulders. His face and lips were pale.

Bucky bit his lip and took a step back. This was a mistake. There was no reason for him to be here. He didn’t have anything to say. His heart stung in an odd way, a feeling he couldn’t quite place.

The attendant took Bucky’s wrist, stopping his retreat and smiling up at him. “It’s ok. He’s just resting. I know it’s jarring to see your husband like this.”

Maybe she was the only person in the Kingdom who didn’t know their background, but her calm words helped slow his racing heart, and Bucky took another step towards Steve.

“He’s asleep, then?” His voice sounded so small.

“Yes.” The attendant was moving around, gathering some bandages. “He was awake for breakfast, but the draught we give him for the pain helped him back to sleep.”

Bucky nodded. He took another step forward. Steve was almost within arm’s reach. He didn’t shift or move on the cot, just lay there, his chest rising and falling. His breathing seemed so slow. The attendant went to the next cot to begin a dressing change and left Bucky standing next to Steve.

“I, uh. Think you’re a lunatic,” Bucky muttered. Steve didn’t seem to respond in any way, which eased his nerves. “What in the seven hells compels a man to jump off a wall? I shouldn’t have to command you not to try to take flight like you’re some gods-be-damned bird.”

He heaved a deep breath, willing himself to stop the flow of words. Something pressed against the inside of his chest, words that wanted to be spoken, words like _I care about you_.

He didn’t dare, not even with Steve sleeping the sleep of the dead.

The man on the cot next to Steve started to groan, drawn out gasps for air. Bucky glanced over to see the attendant removing old blood-stained bandages to sword wounds on the man’s chest, abdomen, and back. Fresh blood welled in one of the cuts, running down the man’s chest until the attendant pressed a new bandage against it, holding it with firm pressure. The bandage soaked through, and she added another, pressing harder, and then a third. The fourth one remained free of blood.

Bucky blew out a breath. He looked back to Steve, who had shifted and turned his head away. Steve’s lips were so pale. His skin looked ice cold. Bucky tried to encase the fire burning in his heart with that ice. Even if he was starting to have feelings for his husband, it was unlikely Steve felt the same. Tears pricked at his eyes, unbidden, and his cheeks flamed at the sudden surge of emotion.

How dare Steve do this to him? Bucky glanced at Steve again, at his pallid face, and turned on his heel. He stalked out of the tent, nearly crashing into Sam.

“James?” Sam called out behind him, but Bucky just kept walking.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“How many battles have I missed, Sam?” Steve sat up in his cot. Unlike the last time he tried, this time he was able to rearrange himself without his head protesting. His abdomen throbbed, but it was manageable, a subtle undercurrent of discomfort. “I swear I’ve heard the gods-be-damned horns going off day and night, but I never know whether I’m awake or dreaming.”

“She’s attacked a few more times, but we’ve beaten her back.” Sam pushed a warm bowl into Steve’s hands. “Go ahead and eat if you’re feeling up to it. I’m gonna need my cot back soon.”

The sweet smell of oats made Steve realize just how hungry he was. Shoving spoonfuls of breakfast in his mouth, Steve peered around the tent. Most of the beds were filled. Steve looked back to Sam, whose face was drawn, dark circles under his eyes. “Have you gotten any sleep? Or have I been hoarding all of that too?”

Sam took a drink of water and laughed. “You’ve certainly kept me busy.” He gestured around the tent with a little wave. “They’ve all kept me busy. But they’ve got another surgeon coming to relieve me shortly. I’ll sleep then.”

Steve looked up at Sam, meeting his eyes. “Thank you. I have no doubt you saved my life.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam’s kind smile turned into a grin. “I couldn’t lose you and have to answer to your sword-happy husband.”

“Bucky. Yes.” Steve’s heart raced more than it should have at the name. “So he’s okay, then? Too? He’s okay, too?”

Sam nearly laughed at the way Steve stumbled over his words. “Yes. He’s come and visited you a few times while you were sleeping.”

Steve took that piece of information and let it tumble around in his mind. He wanted to smile, but of course Bucky visited. Even if he hadn't wanted to, it was expected of him. Steve would have done the same. He pictured Bucky lying on the cot and the thought turned his stomach sour. Steve had to put the bowl of oats down and take a deep breath.

“Do you need a basin?” Sam asked, turning to look for one. “You look like breakfast might not be settling well.”

Steve shook his head, thankful that his vision didn’t blur with the movement. “I’ll be fine in a moment." The nausea passed after a few more moments. "Now, don’t lie to me, Sam. How much longer do I have until I can fight again?”

Sam pointed a finger at Steve. “Listen. I know you’re just going to ignore me, but you need to take it easy for the next couple of days. Ideally, you’d do that for twice as long. But give me two more days, alright?”

“I can do that.” Steve paused. He stretched out his legs, testing them. They protested, but warmed to the simple movement. “What can I start with? Running? Training?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You can supervise your squad. Light duty chores.” He took a deep breath. “If there’s an attack, I can only do so much if you get hurt again. Do you understand?”

“How about I promise not to jump off the wall?” Steve managed a smile. Breathing didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had a few days ago.

“Yeah. That’d be a great start, if I believed you for one minute,” Sam said. Someone called out from one of the cots, and Sam stood up to head over to the other side of the tent. “Go on, finish your breakfast and get out of here, alright? I better not see you back in this tent again.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

The horns stayed silent as Steve walked through the castle grounds, but the air still rang with noise. There was the call and response of squads training and the steady clanging as armorsmiths made repairs. Squeals came from the barns. Despite the war, calving season was upon them, keeping the ranchers busy.

A lack of rain meant the ground was finally more dirt than mud, and it was pleasant to walk without sinking down with every step. Steve’s stitches pulled when he went up the stairs, a mild burn that he ignored in favor of putting on a strong face as he stepped up to the door of the command office—the door to his and Bucky’s room.

Steve raised his hand to knock and then shook his head, chiding himself for hesitating to open the door to his own room. He pushed the door open.

A dagger flew through the air, slicing into the wood of the door with a thud.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” Steve said as he pulled the dagger out of the door.

He flipped it as he walked inside, holding it out hilt first to Bucky. Bucky took back his dagger, sheathing it as he stared. His gaze lingered as he looked Steve up and down.

“You don’t look like you’re about to die anymore.” Bucky sat back down at the desk, moving across the bench until there was room for Steve to sit.

“I don’t feel like I’m about to die anymore.” Steve would have sworn he saw relief in Bucky’s eyes, but he told himself it was the candlelight on the desk, giving light the room’s small window couldn’t provide. Steve sat down, the space between them as far as he could manage. “Sam told me she’s attacked since …”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded at the desk, covered in reports. “We’ve lost two of our men.”

Steve grimaced as he bowed his head in a brief moment for the men they had lost. “I should have been there.”

Bucky moved aside a piece of parchment and started reading another. “Yes. You’re right. It’s my fault for losing the men because I didn’t hurl myself off the wall to save the day.”

Steve grumbled as he watched Bucky stare at the paper. Bucky’s eyes didn’t move down the page, just stayed focused at the top. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Then say what you mean,” Bucky snapped. He still didn’t look at Steve, but he didn’t need to for Steve to imagine the fire building on his face.

“All I’m saying is that another person in the fight could have been a deciding factor.” Steve’s voice came out colder than he intended. “And I jumped because—” Steve remembered the anger that had flared when he saw the patrolmen being attacked. “It wasn’t fair of her to attack them.”

“Because war is fair now?” Bucky stared Steve down now, and Steve almost shrank back at the steel tone before squaring his shoulders and matching the glare.

“It’s not _fair_ , no, but there should be standards.” Steve wanted to hold his tongue, wanted to cling to the image of Bucky standing at his cot, acting like his husband. The caustic words spilled out anyhow. “But your House wouldn’t teach you those, would they?”

Bucky slid along the bench and slammed Steve across the board to the wall, holding his shoulders and pinning him there. Steve winced as Bucky straddled his lap and his knee jammed against his wound, but before either of them got another word out, there was a knock at the door.

“His Royal Majesty requests an urgent audience with all of his officers,” called the messenger from outside the door. “I’m to bring you to attend now.”

Steve met Bucky’s eyes. He found uncertainty bathed in fire. “We can settle this later.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Hela has several strike teams heading across the countryside.” Thor was grim as he sat at the head of the table in the small, secure room while Bryn and Ema stood guard at the door. Thor’s beard needed a trim, but stood tall and didn’t sound one bit as exhausted as he looked.

Bucky tensed, fingers pressed against the wood of the table. “Where exactly are they going?”

“It’s uncertain.” That was Natasha, coming to stand near Thor. “My contacts tracked them in several directions. They don’t seem to have many going out, but it’s enough to do damage to unprepared villages.”

“We need to send our fastest men to take them down and now!” called one of the other officers at the table. The others murmured their agreement. “I won’t have my children slaughtered while I sit here trading blows with that black witch.”

Bucky found himself nodding fiercely. Becca floated to mind, pregnant and hoping for a little girl. “I volunteer to lead the group to chase them down.”

Steve gave him a sharp look, and Bucky ignored it, facing the King. “Your Majesty. My horse is one of the fastest in the Kingdom. Let me go, and let me go now.”

Thor considered, tapping a finger to his chin. “That will work. Your Lord Husband can retain command here, if he is well enough.”

“I am, Your Majesty.” Steve ducked his head.

Bucky paused as he watched Steve wince. There was nothing he could do about Steve’s injury, so he turned to the other officers. “I am going to be prepared within the hour. Send me only your fastest men.” He remembered a moment later to defer to the King, but Thor was already agreeing, stating the parameters of the mission and calling for his scribe to affix his seal to the documents.

Loki turned to Bryn. “And the Valkyries? Will they ride for us now?”

Bryn shook her head and met his gaze. “Prince Loki. I have said this too many times. The Valkyries have been disbanded for twenty years.”

With nothing else to be said, Thor dismissed the group. Bucky was the first out of the room, Steve striding to keep up. He had a hand on his side as he lagged a step behind Bucky.

“You’re going to leave, just like that?” Steve didn’t bother to keep his voice down, though whether from anger or frustration or pain, Bucky didn’t know.

“I have to.” Words of prayer ran through his mind, stumbling thoughts to send up to R’hllor. If there was someone watching over Becca, it would be him. “You said yourself that I got two of our men killed. Well, show me what you can do differently. They’d better all be alive when I get back.”

When he chanced a glance over at Steve, Steve was nodding, determination written into the lines of pain on his face.

Less than an hour later, Bucky led Aric out of the stables. Clint was there, prodding Harold into motion next to the six other men sent for the team.

“You really think Harold’s gonna keep up? In his old age?” Bucky patted Clint’s horse affectionately.

“We’ll outrace you every time.” Clint turned and nodded to Steve. “You gonna hold down the fort for us, wall jumper?”

“A man jumps off one wall…” Steve trailed off with a snort, and Bucky didn’t bother to ask.

The rest of the team was circling around, ready to go. Bucky glanced away and then back at Steve.

He swallowed down a cluster of thoughts that came to mind, the _I wish I had time to ride your dick before I left,_  vying with,  _please don’t die while I’m gone._

“Take care.” He managed to sound sincere. He shoved the other thoughts back lest they tumble out of his mouth.

With everyone waiting, he didn’t know if he was supposed to hug his husband. Or if Steve was expecting a lingering kiss. Or a wave. Maybe a wave would suffice?

Steve took the lead, pulling Bucky in close with that same determination from their walk down the hallway plastered on his face. Something else lurked behind the cracks, but Bucky couldn’t place it. Steve’s lips were on his, a brief, rough kiss that left Bucky breathless, left him wanting to stay just a few minutes longer. He wanted to figure out what was happening between them.

“See you when you get back.” Steve’s breath was warm against Bucky’s ear, but Steve wasn’t smiling. He didn’t sound hopeful. He just stood there, looking at Bucky.

Bucky nodded. He wanted to say something more, anything more. He wanted Steve to tell him to stay. But Clint spurred on Harold, and the group looked to him to lead, so Bucky didn’t say another word, leaving Steve standing there by the stables.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The horns were silent all afternoon. Steve supervised the men doing their chores and looked over at the wood piles more than once, fingers itching to grab an ax and work out his frustrations. The whole of the castle grounds seemed quieter with Bucky gone, and Steve couldn’t help tugging at his ears once or twice. The same sounds were there, but they were muffled, as though he was hearing them underwater.

He didn’t want the horns to go off. He trusted Sam’s insistence that he go easy on himself for another day or two. But the silence dragged on, the afternoon plodding along like a stubborn mule, and he wanted something, _anything_ to pass the time. Clouds hung over them, heavy and humid without the release of rain.

In the evening, Steve made his way to his room, surprised to find the small space so oppressive without another body in it. He sat on the bench, watching the candlelight flicker against the wall. He stared at that tiny bit of flame, wondering what it would be like to see an image in the dancing light.

He wondered if Bucky had seen anything in those flames while he was down in the medical tent, sleeping away the day and the night.

Steve watched the candle and listened to the silence. After a long while, he yawned. He didn’t lie down, just moved down the bench until he was sitting at the desk proper. He pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, and he thought. His stomach itched all along his stitches and he forced himself to keep his fingers away, even though it burned along the edges and he wanted nothing more than to scratch.

He dipped the quill in the inkpot on the desk and began writing to distract himself. The moment he put ink to paper, words started to spill out like blood from a badly bandaged injury.

_Dear Husband,_

_I am starting to think that I might be missing your presence._

Steve paused, considering the parchment. He bit his lip as he realized how cold it was in the evening without Bucky’s thigh pressed up against his. He willed himself to remember every horrific act Bucky’s family had committed against his.

But he dipped the quill into the ink again, and kept writing, spilling out the tender growing affection that had somehow sprouted in his chest. He could burn the parchment when he was done.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky stared at the parchment in front of him, reading the words on the page yet again. Spies in Seahollow. He rubbed his dirt rimmed eyes. “Gods-be-damned, Clint, how have they gotten this far already?”

“I don’t know, but we need to rout them out and fast. That far south, we run the risk of her setting up a supply line with almost no interruption.” Clint gestured to the map, tracing out a path. “We can ride through the Whispering Woods and get through to Seahollow by tomorrow night.”

“No. Clint, you need to ride with the others to Wildecrest. There’s still one more group out there.” Bucky stretched out a crick in his neck. The bones settled into place with a light crack.

“You just want a chance to sleep in an actual bed for a night.” Clint grinned. “Don’t lie, I know it’s true.”

It was part of the truth. Bucky’s shrug was purposely casual as he matched Clint’s grin. “Yes, but they also know me in Seahollow. If we ride down as a group, they’ll be suspicious. But just me? It’ll be an odd, but not impossible, visit.”

One of the other men in the group called over. “The fire’s up and going. Are you guys planning on eating tonight?”

“You’d better save me a plate,” Clint called back, before turning to Bucky. “Look, I don’t like it. But you’re right. It’s the best we can do.”

“I know. I’ll meet you guys at the rendezvous spot in four days just like we planned. I can’t wait to tell you all about the nice, comfortable, _dry_ bed I’ll be enjoying sometime tomorrow night.” As if to emphasize his words, the rain started up again, drops steaming as they hit the fire.

“Yes. Well. I’ll take your watch so you can get some sleep.” Clint pulled Bucky in a for a short, tight hug. “Take care of yourself. I’m not going to be the one to tell your husband he’s a widow, okay?”

Bucky nodded, as he tried to imagine Steve’s reaction. Maybe Steve would appreciate Clint for bringing that news. Bucky pushed the thought out of mind as best he could. After enjoying a couple of bites of warm food, he turned in for the night to grab a few quick hours of sleep before setting out again. He stretched out on dirt and rocks, settling onto his blanket to claim what comfort he could. The rain danced against his tent, a steady cadence to lull him to sleep.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“You look much better today.” Sam motioned for Steve to lift his shirt up.

“Thanks. I feel much better today.” Steve grinned as he pulled up his shirt, exposing his muscled stomach. The smooth skin was interrupted by an angry red line stitched closed by an expert hand. There would be a scar, but it was better than bleeding out.

Sam frowned at the injury. “Let me put some honey on that. I don’t want it to become inflamed.” He dug in his bag, pulling out a little jar. He took off the top, and the flower-sweet scent filled the air.

Steve held still despite an overwhelming urge to twitch as Sam painted a line of the honey on the wound. He waited a moment before covering it with a new bandage. Sam stepped back, surveying the final work.

“It’ll have to do for now. Your skin is healing well, so some small amount of redness should be fine. It’ll go down.” Sam pulled Steve’s shirt back into place. “Let me know if it starts to hurt.”

“It hurts now.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let me know if it starts to hurt more. I hate to break it to you, but some pain is to be expected after an injury like this. Maybe next time you’ll think about what you’re doing to the other guy when you slice him open.”

“Noted. I will make sure to finish the job and spare him the extra pain.” Steve shifted on the cot.

“Steve. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Steve pretended like he didn’t hear him. “I’m good to go then?”

“Yes. Go.” Sam waved him out.

“I still owe you,” Steve said as he headed out of the medical tent. “Hopefully by the time this war nonsense is over, I’ll have found a way to repay this debt.”

The tent flap closed behind him and Steve was back out in the cloudy afternoon. The air itself seemed stagnant, murky and too humid. And the horns were still silent as Steve headed back to his room, the room with a single bed that felt too large, and sat at the desk. He pulled out another parchment and his quill, and started to write another letter he never intended to share with anyone, especially his husband.

He could burn them all later.

 

 

~ ★ ~


	10. Chapter 10

A fortnight later, just as Steve had finished washing the dishes after the midday meal with the squad, a young groom came up to announce the return of the King’s countryside strike team. Steve fumbled a wooden bowl when he heard Bucky’s name.

He put the bowl down on the stack before he could drop it. “I have to meet him for a debriefing.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, gathering up the bowls to put them away. “A debriefing. Is that what they call it? Go see your husband.”

Steve managed a crooked smile and headed out to his office, rushing up the steps. He had gotten sloppy, had left out the letter he had wrote last night. Had started thinking that Bucky might not come back.

Their room was thankfully empty. Steve grabbed the top sheet of parchment off of the desk and stuffed it under a pile of clothing in his trunk, closing the lid with a click just as the door opened.

Bucky entered the room looking ready for a bath and a nap. His braid was half undone, a lock of hair brushing at his shoulders. Dirt streaked his face and his rumpled clothing.

Warmth surged into Steve’s groin as he stood up from his trunk, his back to the wall. A dozen thoughts came to mind before he settled on one. “Sorry I didn’t fling a dagger at you to say hello.”

“I’d rather not lose a finger to your bad aim, thanks.” Bucky didn't miss a beat, his voice laced with sarcasm as he pretended to inspect his hand.

Steve bit his tongue, the familiar heat rising under his chest from just one more look at Bucky's dirt stained cheekbones. It had been so long and Steve was already so hard it hurt, his dick pinned under his pants. Bucky looked so goddamn smug, and Steve couldn’t help but push it. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done, then? If you’re the expert.”

Bucky grinned, and his eyes sparked. He pushed his braid back over his shoulder as he unsheathed his daggers from his back. They flew in tandem through the air end over end, and there was a single thud as they hit the fabric of Steve’s sleeve above the shoulder, embedded in the wooden panel behind him.

Pinned up against the wall, Steve damn near vibrated with need as Bucky stalked the rest of the way into the room, loosening his sheaths and letting them drop off his back to the floor. He tore his travel-battered shirt over his shoulders as he strode up to Steve. Naked from the waist up and his hair half down, he stood there like a gods-be-damned iron pole and stared Steve down.

“ _That’s_ how it’s done,” he hissed, before pressing his lips against Steve’s like he was the air he needed to breathe. Bucky pushed his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tasting him like he was starved.

Steve whined softly against Bucky’s mouth, letting him in, running his tongue over his. Bucky smelled like outside, like the sun and rain had mingled on his back and woven itself into his hair. He smelled like earth with an underlying current of worn leather.

Bucky’s hands were on Steve’s face, holding him in place just like those two daggers keeping his back up against the wall. Steve could have leaned forward, could have freed himself with ease, but he stayed there and let Bucky grind him against the solid stone and wood. He groaned as Bucky slotted his leg between Steve’s thighs, providing just enough pressure to tease without any real relief.

“Been missing this?” Bucky asked, his voice low and his grin knowing.

Steve had just a moment to see that grin before Bucky’s lips were on his again, his tongue thrusting back into his mouth.

“Yes.” He managed to get out the single word in a rush of air, a confirmation and a plea wrapped together just as closely as Bucky traced his hand down Steve's stomach, playing with the waistband of his pants.

“I have too,” Bucky admitted, before ripping aside Steve's belt and pushing down his pants.

Steve’s cock stood at quivering attention, and he rutted against Bucky like it’d been ages since they’d last touched, thrusting his sensitive cock against the rough fabric of Bucky’s clothes. Behind his pants, Bucky was just as hard. Steve reached to ease down Bucky's pants, but the fabric of his sleeves tore against the daggers. Steve stopped, and settled for grabbing at whatever exposed skin was closest to him. He ran his hands over Bucky’s arms and hands, twining their fingers together for a moment and letting go.

“Gods,” Steve groaned, grabbing for Bucky's chest and running his thumbs over his nipples. Steve shuddered when Bucky reached down and grabbed at his cock, touching him with calloused fingers and teasing him with a handful of slow, rough pumps.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky grunted as Steve teased his nipples with a firm press. Bucky ground back against Steve, pushing Steve up against the wall again. “You make me crazy.”

Steve gasped as Bucky gripped him tighter, a beautiful wave of pleasure running from his groin to his toes. The stone behind him was so firm and unyielding, no matter how hard Bucky pressed.

“Pretty sure—you’re already—” Steve panted, trying to finish the sentence, but Bucky didn’t let up, and Steve's skin was on fire. He was on the verge of coming, his balls drawn up tight.

“Already what?” Bucky slowed down his ministrations on Steve's cock, and his stubble brushed against Steve’s jaw as he spoke. Steve tilted his head, silently begging Bucky to come even closer.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve lifted his chin, exposing his throat, and Bucky didn’t need any additional persuasion. He nipped at the soft skin, and Steve shuddered, thrusting into Bucky’s hand like he had no control of his hips.

Bucky let go of Steve’s cock, his fingers gliding up Steve’s abdomen, searching. He ignored the way Steve whined and twisted against him, finding the ridge of the scar.

“Healed nicely,” Bucky said. He glanced down to the see the scar and it took every effort to keep his voice from breaking when he saw the precum leaking from Steve’s dick. It left a wet spot on his pants.

Steve wriggled against him, pinned against the wall and accepting Bucky’s will.

“Yeah, it’s fine, you’re not gonna hurt me, please just touch me.” Steve’s words came out in a rush.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, pressing a finger against the scar.

Steve winced, drawing up his leg to knock Bucky’s hand away. “Fuck.”

“Don’t want you lying to me,” Bucky muttered, flattening his hand and rubbing it softly on Steve’s stomach. “Bet you fought every single battle while I was gone, too.” He reached down, wrapping his fingers loosely around Steve's dick.

“Three times. She attacked three times.” Steve’s breath hitched as Bucky tightened his grip. “Don’t care about that now, though.”

“I don’t either,” Bucky agreed, reaching with his other hand to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair. He smashed their lips together again, tongues and saliva mixing as he brought Steve’s flagging erection back to life, holding him in place with his hand wound through his hair.

After a few minutes of desperate kisses, he let go. He plucked his daggers from the wall, tossing the first to the floor and sliding the second under Steve’s chin, putting the flat of the blade against his skin. "I ought to have you suck me off like this.”

“Gods, you’re crazy.” Steve’s voice was wrecked as his eyes darkened and his cock pulsed in Bucky’s hand. He didn’t take his eyes off of the dagger. He licked his lips.

Bucky grinned, nudging the steel against Steve’s skin. “Only as crazy as you are, husband. And I want to fuck you up.”

Bucky let the second dagger fall to the floor and nodded towards the bed. Steve sauntered over to the bed, throwing himself down on the tiny space. He looked up at Bucky through half-lidded dark eyes, his hair spilling over the pillow. His shirt was bunched up, exposing toned stomach, the red scar, and the bottom curve of his chest.

Stepping out of his pants, Bucky crawled into the bed, and staddled Steve’s lap, shimmying his leg to fit in the space between Steve's body and the wall.

“I should have just cut off the shirt off,” Bucky said as he ducked his head, nipping at Steve’s lips and teasing his nipple, pinching with deft fingers before cupping the muscle and squeezing. Just as perfect as he had remembered.

Nodding and panting, Steve worked his shirt up higher, trying to pull it over his head, but Bucky swatted his hands down.

“Never mind that, just get yourself ready.” Bucky was rubbing his dick against the sharpness of Steve's hip just to take off the edge. His skin crawled with warmth that spread out from his chest and danced across his body.

Steve reached down between their legs with a spit-slicked finger, a blush of heat spreading from his cheeks down to his shoulders as he worked it in himself. Bucky urged him on with more kisses, shoving his tongue into Steve’s mouth before pulling back a little, sucking on Steve’s tongue and biting at his lower lip.

Bucky grabbed at a container of oil on the tiny table by the bed. He slicked himself, pushing at Steve’s hand again, knocking it out of the way.

“So impatient.” Steve angled his hips up, giving Bucky a better view, and Bucky grinned.

“Doesn’t sound like a complaint to me.” He positioned his cockhead at Steve’s entrance, pushing forward against the gentle resistance. “Yeah, I'm a little impatient. Any damn moment those gods-be-damned horns will sound.”

Steve muttered something, but it was overtaken by a soft inhale as Bucky pressed farther into him. Bucky groaned and closed his eyes as Steve’s muscles tensed down on his cock, hugging it so tight that he had to stop and wait for three breaths lest he thrust twice and spend his load.

It felt like forever before Bucky had sheathed himself completely in Steve. Steve reached over and grabbed Bucky’s hips, somehow pulling him even closer, bringing him even deeper. They held each other for a moment, locked together in a tangle of arms and legs. Steve wiggled his hips, thrusting his leaking cock against Bucky’s stomach. Every movement between them jostled Bucky’s balls, sending little bursts of pleasure through his body. Bucky growled, absolutely done with going slow.

 

~ ★ ~

 

When Bucky started fucking Steve in earnest, all Steve could do was cling to his grip on Bucky’s hips and close his eyes, crying out on a sharp inhale of air. Bucky filled him so perfectly, stretching him just to the edge of too much and threatening to topple them both over that edge. It was a fire burning inside him, a sweet heat verging on too hot.

Steve wanted more. His fingers left red marks on Bucky’s skin, and Bucky responded with enthusiasm, the wet slap of his sweat-covered skin against Steve’s filling their room. It mingled with Steve’s pants and gasps and outright cries.

“Please, Bucky, just like that,” he managed, his voice wrecked as he arched his back with every perfectly angled thrust. “Please, _please_ , don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t fucking stop if it was the end of the fucking world,” Bucky grunted, slamming into Steve. He braced his hands on either side of Steve’s shoulders, looming over him.

Steve moaned and fisted his cock, frantic and panting, keening for " _more,_ please _, just more_." He went silent when he came, his hips quivering and cum striping up to Bucky’s chest before pooling down on his chest.

Bucky thrust into Steve a few more times, choking out a cry as he spilled his seed in Steve in a soft, relentless pulse of soothing warmth. Steve closed his eyes again as Bucky lay on top of him, his cum coalescing with sweat between them. Bucky’s weight pressing on him was comforting as his breathing returned to normal. He wove his fingers through the strands of Bucky’s hair that had fallen loose and held him.

“Hell of a welcome back,” Bucky finally said after several minutes.

Steve nodded underneath him. His body had started to cool, and his skin itched as his sated comfort began to edge away. He wanted a wet cloth and a wipe down. He met Bucky's eyes. “How'd the mission go?”

Bucky slid out of Steve before answering, wiping at his softening dick with the blanket. He sat down on the edge of the bed, cum still striped on his chest. Steve shifted until he was next to Bucky, his shirt falling into place as he sat up.

“It wasn’t great. She’d picked a good team. They had done a lot of damage through the Vale as far west as Stonebridge. We got them before they got to Wildecrest.”

Steve shifted again until their thighs pressed together. Neither of them had bothered to reach for their other clothes. “They broke through to Stonebridge?”

Bucky bowed his head. “Yeah. And spies down in Seahollow.”

Steve let out a low whistle. “They really fucked things up.”

“They would have gotten to Becca if we’d let them get any farther.” Bucky’s voice was little more than a protective growl at the thought. “We brought their heads for Thor. But it won’t bring back what she’s destroyed.”

There was a beat of silence between them, broken by a knock on the door. Clint entered the room a second later. Steve sighed, trying to pull down his shirt to cover his cock, but Bucky didn’t move.

“Gods be damned,” Clint sighed. “I swore I gave you two enough time to enjoy each other’s company _and_ get dressed afterwards.”

Bucky shrugged, the full body motion making his dick wiggle. Steve couldn’t hide a smile. Clint crossed his arms.

“You’re going to want to put your pants on for this.” Clint gestured out, towards the south. “Look who’s come back for a visit.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Fully clothed and standing on the southern battlements, Bucky stared at the sight in front of him. One of the Wakandan guards at the front held a large, colorful banner, and an envoy of at least eight rode behind her. Even from the distance, Bucky recognized M’Baku. He was almost certain the guard was Okoye. He didn’t recognize the others.

“Did we know they were coming?” Bucky scanned the horizon to the east. “Does _she_ know they’re coming? They aren’t safe out in the open like that.”

Clint nodded to the corner of the battlements, and Bucky realized archers were standing at the ready, eyes focused and looking for a potential attack. “They sent a messenger ahead to announce their upcoming arrival, but he only just arrived himself, giving Thor just enough time to order the archers in place.”

Next to Bucky, Steve had his hand pressed against his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun that had decided to show its face for a scant moment. “What are they doing back here? During this war?”

“I’m not sure. But the King has requested your presence to receive them.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve tapped his fingers against the table as he stood, waiting for the Wakandan envoy to enter the great hall. At the head of the hall, Thor sat on his throne, a pose he’d grown into over the past weeks. Loki stood next to him and the ever present guard of Ema and Bryn flanked the both of them.

Bucky and Steve stood along one of the side tables with several of the other officers. Bucky put a hand over Steve’s to stop the tapping. When Steve managed to still his fingers, Bucky let go.

Another long minute passed before the King’s herald announced the arrival of the envoy. “Presenting T’Challa, His Royal Majesty of Wakanda.”

Okoye led the procession into the hall and several of the King’s bodyguards fanned out behind her. Behind them was M’Baku and a few others that Steve didn’t recognize, and then the presumed King T’Challa, walking tall and proud and staring straight ahead.

He didn’t smile, and Steve was struck with a sense of heaviness when T’Challa passed by, as though he was shouldering a burden unseen by everyone but him. T’Challa turned his head for a moment, as though he was looking through Steve to Bucky. T’Challa narrowed his eyes for a flash like lightning before he snapped his attention back to Thor.

Steve had a sudden urge to grab Bucky’s hand and never let go.

The procession moved in silence save for their footsteps against the ground. When they made their way in front of the throne, Thor stood.

“We are honored by your presence, King T’Challa of Wakanda.” Thor opened his arms wide, pulling a surprised T’Challa into a firm embrace. He stepped back, smiling at T’Challa as he made he way back towards the throne. “I apologize for the lack of the reception. As you might have heard, we are at war.”

T’Challa considered for a moment before nodding. “I have seen. We traveled past villages burned to the ground. We fought off a group of raiders that thought us easy prey.” T’Challa met Thor’s eyes. “They found out that our claws are worse than our growl. Thank you for providing cover as we approached the castle.”

“You may thank my archers at your leisure for providing the opening.” Thor sat back in the throne. “I will have my men show you to your quarters, if you would like to relax before supper.”

The way T’Challa shifted his gaze from Thor to Bucky again had Steve tense and ready for a fight. Did anyone else in the room sense it? Steve stared T’Challa down, and willed himself to unclench his fist. He couldn't take his hand off of his scabbard.

“I thank you for preparing rooms for us, but we will not be staying long.” T’Challa spoke with a confidence fit for a king. And then, even louder, T’Challa addressed the room, turning and looking at each person in turn. He held their gazes without flinching. “Let it be known that my father, King T’Chaka, has been assassinated!” Before Thor could say anything, before anyone could reaction, T’Challa pointed at Bucky as he continued, “We have come to apprehend his murderer. We have come for James Barnes. The punishment for murdering a king is death.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

For the first time he could remember, Bucky thought about running. He thought about turning around and leaving the room and pretending that he didn’t hear some person he didn’t know accusing him of murdering a king. Around him, people started to talk. The voices ran through his head like an off-key symphony, and he tried to ignore them. Steve grasped his hand, holding it tight.

Were they holding hands?

Bucky looked down at his fingers in surprise as Steve angled himself between Bucky and T’Challa. Steve said something, but it blended into the mess of noise of everyone speaking at once and the idea that someone was accusing him of killing the former King of Wakanda.

“Silence!” roared Thor, pounding his hammer down to the ground with a heavy crack. Dust flew up from the stone floor, settling over the impact as everyone stilled. “I will have proof of your claims before I give you leave to one of my most loyal subjects.”

T’Challa nodded to one of his bodyguards, another woman in red armor. “Ayo, from my personal Kingsguard, the Dora Milaje, will read the pronouncement.”

Ayo stepped forward, pulling out a scroll and unrolling it. “One week ago, the Kingdom of Wakanda suffered a grave loss when King T’Chaka was assassinated on his way to discuss trade arrangements at Seahollow by a man with long, braided brown hair. He evaded capture, heading north. In his haste, he left behind an item that can only be traced back to James Barnes—a ceremonial dagger given out at the King’s tournament five years ago.”

Bucky’s face fell. “That’s impossible. It’s in my trunk. I’ve had it with me the whole time.”

“I’d advise you to choose your words carefully, king killer,” T’Challa said, pulling a wrapped weapon out of his breast pocket. He pulled aside the cloth, revealing the gemstone inlaid handle of Bucky’s lucky dagger. “Or shall we brand you with liar, too, before you face your punishment?”

Bucky paused. When had someone stolen it? As thoughts ran through his mind, he could only focus on the most benign and useless one: if he got out of this mess alive, he’d had to retire that dagger from its “lucky” status.

“I am sorry for your loss. But this is no proof that Lord James has done this heinous act you accuse him of.” Thor regarded T’Challa and the rest of the Wakandan envoy. “I have also lost my father recently. Lord James did his best to prevent an attempt on his life. I trust him.”

Bryn and Ema flanked his sides.

“Do you think it wise to provoke Wakanda to war with your kingdom?” T’Challa brushed at the shoulder of his black uniform, wiping off the dust Thor’s hammer had stirred up. “Do you think this Lord James is worth throwing your beleaguered citizens against another enemy? By surrendering him to our will, we will have no quarrel with you.”

Thor opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as Bucky spoke out.

“If I may speak—” he paused for the bare minimum of moments, not long enough for T’Challa to protest. “I have not killed your father. And I am truly sorry for your loss. You have seen the destruction that we have faced at Hela’s hands. Surely you have heard of the sizeable army she leads against us still. You wish to disrupt our ranks and toy with our chance for victory. What makes you think she won’t come for you next?”

“We in Wakanda know how to protect what is important,” T’Challa said with a grim smile.

“Except for your King?” That was Steve’s voice cutting across the room, and Bucky wasn’t sure whether to thank him or hit him.

“Enough of this!” T’Challa raised his voice, and his guards circled around his sides, spears still pointed to the ceiling but ready to fight at a moment’s notice. “King Thor. Will you give me James Barnes, or is this to be considered an act of war?”

“I will not condemn Sir James to death without—”

“You have heard him,” T’Challa interrupted, raising a hand. “As King of Wakanda, let it be known that as of this moment, our two Kingdoms—”

“Wait.” Bucky stepped forward, nearly bumping into the table as his legs threatened to buckle underneath him. He put his hand on the table to steady himself before moving forward again. “Wait! I’ll come with you!” He took a deep breath. “I have not killed your father. Please. Investigate his death. Consider who might have had motives against the throne.” When T’Challa started to protest, Bucky took another step forward, until any one of the spearwomen could have skewered him. “I will come with you during the investigation. As a token of good faith.”

Steve reached an arm out behind him, trying to pull him back. “You don't need to take him. We can provide witnesses! Bucky was with Clint and the others in his squad, riding to protect the Kingdom, to take out spies in Seahollow. One of Hela’s men must have committed this act of violence. Bucky was never alone to commit this crime! You can’t take him.”

T’Challa’s stare was icy. “Are you saying you can prove his innocence?”

Steve nodded, as sturdy as Bucky had ever seen him. “Yes. Clint can—”

Bucky moved out of Steve’s reach and met his eyes. He swallowed down nausea. “He can’t. I rode to Seahollow alone.”

Steve paled. He opened his mouth. Unable to say anything else, he closed it.

Bucky knew there was nothing more that could be said. He took his weapons and put them down on the ground in front of Okoye. He got to his knees and bowed his head. “I surrender myself to your will, King T’Challa.”

The room fell silent.

And then the horns began to sound.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“We’re going to have to tie up our loose ends with this situation after the fight, I’m afraid.” Thor was already moving in a sweep of his red cape. “King T’Challa. Please consider retiring for your safety to the rooms we’ve provided.”

“We will take Barnes with us.” T’Challa stood firm, not moving.

Steve’s knuckles were white on the edge of the table as he waited for the orders, ready to run to battle, but unwilling to leave Bucky to T'Challa's mercy. He bit his tongue.

“We need him for the fight. Think of it this way. If her army has a lucky arrow, they’ll take care of your ill considered interest in him.” Thor offered a shrug of feigned disinterest as he stood face to face with T’Challa. 

Steve held his breath.

T’Challa didn’t laugh. “I won’t have him escaping in the heat of a battle.”

The horns didn't stop, and Thor growled. “Let me have my men for the battle or none of us will be leaving this castle alive.”

There was a fraction of hesitation in T’Challa’s face. He pursed his lips, ready to say something, when a squire, white-faced and trembling, broke into the room.

“Begging your pardon, your Majesty—we need more men on the ground.” The squire took in huge gasps of air, trying to get out his words. “Her trebuchets—she’s got them going—Lady Sif needs back up—” He looked up at Thor and at T’Challa. “We’re going to die, your Majesty, I don’t want to die—”

“I’ll watch him.” M’Baku spoke up over the squire’s broken sobs, inclining his head towards Bucky. “I won’t let him leave.” He didn’t wait for T’Challa’s permission, just grabbed Bucky’s weapons off of the floor and handed them over. “I assume these blasted horns are letting you know where you need to be? So let’s get there.”

Bucky nodded, watching T’Challa and the spearwomen closely, and taking a slow, tentative step away. When no one tried to attack him, he followed Thor and the other officers out into the hall, and they began running to their positions. Steve jogged behind Bucky and M’Baku, a stone settling in his stomach.

They arrived to barely contained chaos, groups of men fighting on the battlements and others spilling onto the grass to protect Lady Sif and the warriors as they rode towards where Hela had managed to set up three of her trebuchets.

“I’ve got north,” Bucky yelled, heading up with M’Baku a close shadow. Steve fell into his position on the ground, the members of his squad moving towards him as if drawn in by his presence.

Dugan was limping.

“You need to get off your leg,” hissed Steve as he swung his greatsword, knocking back enemies and trying to work an opening for Dugan to retreat.

“You need to focus on them, and I’ll focus on me,” Dugan shouted back. He had his blade up and though each step came with a wince, he kept pace.

Steve craned his neck, trying to read the battlefield. The fighting covered every field of the castle. Men swarmed the King’s forces in a desperate attempt to buy time for the trebuchets to destroy as much as possible. Hela’s army fought like men possessed, fighting and screaming even as they fell to the ground.

Every few minutes, the horrible sound of the trebuchet flinging a giant stone cracked across the battlefield as the afternoon clouds began to block out the sun. Before long, it was raining, the newly formed mud caking onto boots and pants and the dead.

Steve howled, and around him, his men responded. There was Dugan’s deep voice and Gabriel’s roar and Jim’s scream. The trebuchets were louder, and a boulder hurtled over them, taking down a man twenty paces away. Through the sheets of rain, Steve saw a group up ahead being overrun by several of Hela’s men.

“Hurry,” he called, a useless reminder as they ran through the muck and mess.

Gabriel got there first, his sword moving as quick as lightning. Hela’s soldiers whirled around, both trying to attack Gabriel at the same time. It left an opening that Jim took. He darted in, bringing down one as Gabriel parried the other. Dugan fell into position next to them, fighting off anyone trying to get closer.

Steve swooped in to finish off the last man. The two soldiers from Hogun’s group gasped out thanks and went to work dragging their injured, bleeding squadmate towards the castle, calling for a medic.

Over their heads, arrows flew out from the battlements. Clint was no doubt leading the group in picking off their targets with astonishing accuracy through the rain and wind. Steve couldn’t think about how he did it. He just kept moving. They circled around to protect other groups cut off from the castle. His squad moved with him, and they kept the lines intact.

A loud creak of wood sounded through the din, and in the distance, Steve could make out the form of one of the trebuchets collapsing to the ground.

“Two to go! Let’s get to the warriors, clear the way!” Steve raised his shield and behind him, his men gave a cry. “For Midgard!”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Falsworth and Jacques flanked Bucky as his daggers took on lives of their own, cutting down the men in front of them. M’Baku was his shadow. As tall as he was, M’Baku wasn’t the odd man out in this fight as men from all around the Kingdom surged forward, trying to protect their families, trying not to die.

“You fight like Hanuman gives you strength,” M’Baku roared above the din. He had his spear at the ready and his eyes on Bucky.

Bucky took it as a compliment. “Have they gotten down the trebuchets?” Bucky shouted back.

M’Baku charged forward, running a man through with his spear and grinning. He took his eyes off Bucky for a moment, glancing in the distance as Jacques and Falsworth took the moment to catch their breath.

“Just the one!”

A boulder sped through the air above them, smashing into the castle wall with a horrible crack. Shouts echoed through the battlement as a section of the wall began to collapse.

They kept moving, the wind howling and cold rain beating down on their heads. Bucky wiped water from his eyes, and his hand came away smeared with dirt and blood.

Drums echoed from behind Hela’s lines, their cadence as fast and urgent as the fighting around them.

“Forget the trebuchets,” Falsworth grunted as he pulled his sword out of the back of a corpse. The rain washed away the blood. “What I wouldn’t give to destroy those drums!”

“Back there!” Jacques pointed towards the south, where Steve was fighting, the bright white star embroidered on his armor noticeable through the rain. “Let’s go!”

Bucky nodded. He took in great breaths of wet air as he forced his protesting feet to keep moving. His muscles were going stiff from the constant cold. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

“Steve!” Bucky called, and Steve turned to look, relief washing over his face.

“Not a moment too soon! Dugan’s hurt, and there’s more men up ahead!”

“I’m fine!” But regardless of his protest, Dugan couldn’t keep moving with the limp. “Be fine as soon as I sit down for a minute.” He collapsed to the ground with a grunt.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve assessed the situation, ordering Gabriel to stay with Dugan as the rest of them moved down the battlefield again, keeping the path clear as groups of Lady Sif’s warriors continued to ride past Hela’s front lines to dismantle the remaining trebuchets.

Lightning flashed just as the second trebuchet went down in another groan of overstrained wood, and the men around Steve cheered. The drumbeat grew louder, more frantic, and the fighting continued.

Hela’s army surged forward, a renewed strength despite the downed war machines, and Bucky cursed as they clashed. From all sides of the fight, the cries of the dying mingled with the screaming wind and the consistent release of the last trebuchet, stones flying through the air and crushing whatever they came in contact with.

Thunder rumbled across the battlefield like an order and the clouds seemed to listen, holding the rain to a light drizzle.

The telltale release of the trebuchet echoed over to them, a projectile hurtling through the air. Steve watched it arc through the air with a sick realization that it was aimed directly at his men.

“Move!” He threw his arms up, motioning them back, having them scatter.

It wasn’t fast enough, no one was moving fast enough. Steve wasn’t moving fast enough. Everything around him seemed to slow down as he heard someone screaming his name and shoving into him, throwing him to the ground. The ground shuddered as the stone hit, and Steve rolled over, jumping on his feet.

Bucky lay on the ground, his entire arm pinned at an odd angle by the boulder. Steve’s thoughts dissolved as he called out for help. He pushed on the rock, trying to move it off of Bucky’s arm. It wouldn’t budge. In an instant, Dugan and Jim and M’Baku were around him, working to pull up the stone without rolling it over Bucky.

All Steve could focus on was Bucky’s face, white and contorted in pain. “We need a medic, he’s hurt, he needs—”

A man with gray in his messy brown hair and wearing the blue medic uniform jogged up, appraising the situation.

“No, we need Sam,” Steve said, pushing the man away from Bucky. No one should touch Bucky but Sam. Sam and Steve. “We need Sam. He needs Sam.”

“Sam is resting. This is my shift.” The man was polite, but firm. He held Steve's wrist as best he could. “And he needs immediate attention.”

Steve managed to breathe long enough to recognize the man as Bruce Banner. He nodded. “Help him. Please.” He couldn’t look at Bucky’s arm, crushed and bent in a horrible direction.

Bruce bent down to the ground, checking Bucky’s pulse and asking questions, and Steve breathed as he looked at Bucky’s face.

In the distance, the creaking sound of collapsing wood signaled the third trebuchet’s demise. The incessant drumming shifted, and Hela’s forces began another retreat, but Steve barely noticed.

Bucky was breathing. His chest kept moving. Steve watched his chest rise and fall.

“We’ll need to get him to the medical tent right now.” Bruce started to direct Gabe and Falsworth to help him, and they surrounded Bucky.

“Wait.” M’Baku held up his hand, and everyone stopped at his sudden command.

Steve tore his eyes from Bucky’s chest to see T’Challa sweeping onto the battlefield, his bodyguards at his side, and his younger sister, Princess Shuri tucked in their protective fold. Someone had brought a cart and attached it to their largest horse.

“We will take him now,” T’Challa said as he approached.

“What?” Steve shook his head. His ears rang. “You can’t. You can’t take him now. He can’t travel like this.”

T’Challa waved his hand as though he were brushing aside a fly. “My sister is well trained in the arts of healing. We will take him while your opponent is concerned with retreating and regrouping, and we can expect relatively safe passage south.”

Steve strode forward, eye to eye with T’Challa. “You can’t take him.”

He drew his sword, and Okoye stamped the butt of her spear in the ground. By the time she lifted it an inch off of the mud, the rest of his guards had circled Steve. He growled, holding his stance.

“I suggest you stand down.” T’Challa eye contact was unwavering. “He has surrendered to me.”

“He didn’t surrender expecting to die as you drag him halfway across the world!” Steve choked out the words and glanced around him. Would his squad help him if he fought? He could at the very least bring down T’Challa before Okoye ran him through with her spear.

Would the Kingdom survive if he started a war with Wakanda?

“The terms were his surrender in exchange for my investigation of my father’s assassination. You have my word I will not let him die before that is completed.” T’Challa was the calm rock against Steve’s waves of anger.

Someone was kneeling by Bucky. Steve swirled to watch as Shuri held out one hand to request Bruce to back away. With her other hand, she brought a small bottle to Bucky’s lips, spilling the dark liquid into his mouth. A line dribbled out of his mouth as thick as blood.

Bucky shuddered and let out a sigh. His breathing evened out, calmer.

“You’re killing him! In front of all of us!” Steve heaved out the words.

His chest was too tight. He couldn’t catch his breath. They were going to take Bucky. Bucky would be gone. The thoughts assaulted him. Visions pierced his mind of Bucky falling and slipping through his fingers. He would never see Bucky again, never be able to hold him in his arms again. He'd never be able to say out loud the feeling that had grown like a warm fire inside his heart, a glow that had been building over their time together.

Everything seemed to slide into place, like the squad getting a maneuver right after fifteen attempts as Steve finally placed the emotion welling in his chest. He dropped his sword in the mud and fell to his knees.

“Please," he begged. "He’s my husband.”

Okoye glanced at T’Challa. When he nodded, she gave a signal. The bodyguards moved away from Steve. His vision blurred from unfallen tears, and the mud stained his knees as he crawled through the dirt to get to Bucky’s body. Steve leaned down, holding his head against his chest. Bucky didn’t seem to notice. He cradled him close, held him as tight as he dared.

“I love him.”

 

 

~ ★ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fun fact: this chapter was written after Infinity War came out and I was like, yup, 2k of them fucking is a good way to work through my feelings. And well, everything else in the chapter. <3


	11. Chapter 11

They took Bucky.

M’Baku and Okoye handled him with care as they lifted his sleeping form and arranged him on a blanket in the cart. Bucky didn’t grunt or groan or do anything except breathe. Shuri’s draught ensured each breath he took was slow and shallow. He looked almost peaceful.

Steve couldn’t stand, not yet, so he knelt, his hand on the ground where Bucky had lain just moments ago.

T’Challa looked over the battlefield crowded with bodies and splattered with blood and dirt. He took a deep breath and true sorrow was written in the heavy lines of his forehead. “I am sorry for your losses. And I am sorry we cannot help. We have our own lands to protect and an investigation to undertake. I wish your Kingdom well.”

He walked to the front of the envoy, his back stiff, and gave the signal for the procession to start. Princess Shuri climbed up into the cart and touched Bucky’s shoulder gently, running her fingers down his broken and battered arm. She nodded to herself before pulling a blanket over Bucky.

Steve sat unmoving and watched the cart roll away. It grew smaller and smaller in the distance until he couldn’t make out Bucky’s form from Shuri’s. Around him, the medics continued to sweep the fields, checking the fallen for signs of life. Every now and again they would burst into a flurry of activity when they found someone clinging to the edge of life, bringing them to the medical tents for emergent care.

The cart faded into nothing but a spot on the horizon.

The sun began to set, and still people worked on clearing the battlefield. Steve listened to the groans of the dying as he sat, his legs stiff underneath him. By the time the moon rose, the medics had stopped returning to the field. They had saved those they could. Among the company of the dead, Steve sat on the ground with his back against the boulder.

Rain began to fall. When he closed his eyes, Steve could pretend the drops on his shoulders were Bucky’s fingers tapping against him. It was odd how salty the rain tasted.

Before long, his clothes were soaked through, and he started to shiver. Only then did he let Gabriel come and gently bring him to his feet, lead him into the castle, and give him something warm to eat.

Sitting in front of a fire in dry clothes, Steve was able to mumble a thanks to Gabriel.

“It’s the least I can do for you, Captain.” Gabriel offered him a cup of water. ‘We’re all here for you.”

“Aye,” Dugan said as he stepped into the room with a salute. “You’ve been there for us day in and day out, working with our sorry asses and, well, reminding us why we do this. For men like you. And Barnes.”

Behind Dugan, Jim and Falsworth and Jacques were nodding.

“If I may speak frankly, sir,” Jim said, barely waiting for Steve’s nod. “It’s a damned shame that your houses were at war for so long. Imagine the potential of your families working together with you two as leaders.”

Even with all the men crowded into the room, it still felt empty when Steve instinctively glanced to catch Bucky’s eye and found himself gazing at the wall instead.

“Barnes is a tough one,” Jacques said, bringing Steve’s thoughts back to the present moment. “He’s not going to lie down and die because of an oversized pebble.”

Steve almost managed a smile. “Thank you. You all get some rest. Just because we pushed her back doesn’t mean this war is over.” When they hesitated to leave, Steve waved them out. “I’ll sleep, too.”

He didn’t.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The days rolled by, but Bucky didn’t notice. With the aid of Shuri’s potions, he ignored the pain, and slept most of the days and all of the nights. They woke him every so often to feed him warm broth that tasted of sweet vegetables and rich chicken. He tried to fight them off, swinging his fists at M’Baku’s smirk and Shuri’s concern. When he dreamed, he could use both of his arms.

Bucky always knew when he was dreaming.

The next evening, Bucky was jostled awake by the cart rolling to a stop. His body protested as he eased into a sitting position, peering over the side of the cart, trying to place where they had stopped. He yawned.

Ayo sat next to him. “Good. You are awake. Come.”

She hoisted him to unsteady feet, and he wobbled against her, one arm dangling and the other clutching her upper arm.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his voice rusted from lack of use.

“It is not far.” She allowed him to cling to her arm so that he could stumble along, drowsy despite the sleep.

His arm twinged, flashes of pain shooting through his shoulder. The pain was far away, like he felt it through a mirror. He closed his eyes for a moment and stumbled over a root in the ground.

Ayo grabbed him, keeping him from falling on his face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, yawning again.

Bucky’s skin danced with pain as he laid eyes on the group gathered before him - the King, T’Challa, his sister Shuri, and several members of the Dora Milaje standing guard. The smell of sea salt rode on the air, and Bucky shivered. Everyone was bathed in a hazy glow from the setting sun. Bucky wondered if he was dreaming, and tried to move his arm. Not dreaming, then.

When no one spoke, he swallowed before asking, “Why are we here?”

T’Challa responded with a question of his own. “Do you know where we are?”

Bucky looked up, noting the treeline and smelling the air. His vision swam for a moment and he waited for it to clear. “Near Seahollow. I think.”

“Yes.” Shuri was quiet. “This is where my father was murdered.”

Bucky shivered again as he realized what the spot meant to everyone present. “I’m so sorry.” His chest was tight. He was so tired, but she had lost her father. They had lost their King. “I swear, I will do whatever I can to help you find his murderer.” He swayed on his feet, his eyes closing of their own accord. “I just need to rest for a minute…”

He fell forward, the ground rushing up to meet him.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Thor stood, and paced beside the table as he spoke. “I have sent word across the Kingdom, asking for every available man and woman to join our fight. We must wait so that they may arrive. We will attack in four days.”

“That’s barely a handful of people when you consider the—” Loki began.

“It will have to do.” Thor’s voice was final.

“But every day that we wait is another day that she can repair her hell machines!” Hogun set his jaw as he raised a hand in anger. “We need to fight. Today.”

“He’s right, your Majesty.” Fandral swooped between Hogun and Thor, trying to get both of them to sit down. “We need not give her any additional days to prepare. Let us bring the fight to her. Without her trebuchets, with her army trying to regroup, we can swarm her camp and secure a victory.”

“We’ve lost too many of our own to go now.” Thor toyed with the end of his hammer, looking out into the distance, as though he could see Hela through the walls. “It would be a fool’s mission to ask you and everyone in this Kingdom to go to their deaths tonight. You might remember I’ve sworn to _protect_ the people.”

Hogun crossed his arms, and the room was silent.

“Well, he is right, your Majesty.” Lady Sif stood from her seat at the great table to speak. “We have to find a way to beat her now or we’ll continue running circles around each other until one of us makes a fatal mistake.”

Steve watched the conversation from his seat by Sif. “I’ll lead the charge,” he offered. “My men and I are prepared to fight until the death if that is what you require of us.”

Sif put a hand on Steve’s. Her hand was no less rough than Bucky’s, just smaller. He wanted her to take her hand away. He wanted her to keep it there, a placeholder until Bucky was back.

“It is kind and honorable of you to offer,” she said. “Know that we are all prepared for that, Captain Rogers. You do not fight this battle alone.”

Loki turned to Bryn as she kept her ever-present guard. “Bryn. You can see the desperation we face here. You can bring back the Valkyries. Give the word and they will return. I do not ask this lightly of you.” He touched her face, his fingers lingering. She slapped his hand down. He didn’t hesitate, just gestured to Thor. “We ask you not as your King and your Prince, but as your fellow countrymen. As men terrified to lose a battle. And me, I am asking you as my equal.”

Emotions flitted across Bryn’s normally stoic face. She bit her lip, her forehead knitted in anger.

“If we are _equals_ as you suggest, then I shall speak as an equal.” Bryn vibrated with barely contained fury as she stamped her spear once on the ground. “The Valkyries _died_ to put Hela away. They gave your father everything they had and now you have the gall to ask us to give even more? Do you ever listen to yourself when you speak?”

“Every night,” Thor cut in with a smile. “I hear him practice his speeches before he retires for the evening.”

Loki shot a glare at his brother, and Bryn hefted her spear. Thor put up his hands. “Please. Continue with the point you are so eloquently making.”

“It matters not. I have given you my loyalty. You have repaid it by asking for something I cannot do. I’m sorry.” Her spear clattered to the floor as she turned and left the room.

A moment later, Ema came in and picked up Bryn’s spear, holding it in her other hand. Loki paused, his eyes darting around the room as if daring anyone to say something. And then he turned and left, too.

Thor tensed, then let out a breath. “So then. That’s one less than we started with, unfortunately. As for all of you, I’m going to seed the incoming warriors throughout the groups. Take them in, get them ready. We march on Hela in four days.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky was sound asleep in his cart when the envoy stopped at the edge of the southern mountain range. He didn’t see T’Challa’s kingsguard standing in front of a certain spot, chanting under their breath. He couldn’t watch as the rocks in front of them seemed to shift, to slide with a great rumble, opening to reveal a narrow path through the mountains.

Bucky was dreaming as they reached the summit of the path, the rising sun visible in the distance as it bathed the kingdom of Wakanda in its infant light.

He slept as they arrived at Black Sun Keep, oblivious to the whirr of activity around him. He was placed on a cream colored cot, his hair pulled gently off of his face in a top knot, his body wrapped in comfortable blue cloth with his crushed arm supported by a small cushion.

Shuri and others handled him with gentle touches, lifting his fingers and repositioning his hand and arm every so often. He listed in and out of sleep, bits and pieces of conversation floating through the air at the edge of his awareness.

“...a guilty man would never risk turning himself in…”

Somebody spoke, but Bucky couldn’t hear.

“...needs my help, brother…”

 _Please_ , Bucky thought, trying to move his fingers. He faded back into unconsciousness.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Captain Rogers. Or since you know me, may I call you Steve?”

Steve looked up from the papers he hadn’t been reading to a face he took a moment to place.

“Lord Maxwell.” Steve stared up at him. His hair was pulled back in a braid that reminded Steve of Bucky’s. The thought of his husband was a knife to the heart, and Steve shook his head, trying to bring himself back to his duty. “What brings you here?”

“King Thor has assigned me to your squad.” Maxwell paused. “He said you were briefed on the situation.”

Steve nodded, looking down at the papers in front of him. There was his name in black ink, Maxwell Revenar. “I’m sorry you had to come back to fight.”

“Well,” Maxwell said as he stepped inside the room. “I guess we all should have known they’d need more people to win this war. I’ve heard a lot about the fights you’ve been winning. It’s an honor to fight for you. Sir.”

Steve nodded again. “The barracks are down and to the left. Dugan will show you around.” Steve gestured to the papers in front of him. “I apologize for not doing it myself, but as you can see, I’ve still got some paperwork to sort through.”

Maxwell mirrored Steve’s nod and smiled. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. And you let me know if there’s anything I can do to lift that burden from your shoulders.”

He glanced back at Steve as he left, but Steve’s thoughts had already shifted back to Bucky.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“How’re you holding out, Steve?” Clint clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I can’t believe they fucking took him.”

“Clint is very attached to Bucky.” Natasha rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “I offered to track the envoy back to Wakanda for him. Can you believe it? I’ve never been there.”

Steve shrugged, trying to put a smile on his face. His head hurt. “Has anyone? Does it matter? Bucky could be dead right now, and I wouldn’t know.”

“A few months ago, wouldn’t you have celebrated that?” Clint was matter of fact, but his grin betrayed his teasing.

Steve didn’t have the energy to glare.

“Clint. He is not in the mood for that.” Natasha dropped a key on Steve’s desk. It clattered on top of the pile of papers that he still hadn’t read. “Take a look at this key and tell me if it speaks to you.”  
  
Steve picked up the smooth key, testing it between his fingers. The back loop of the key was broken. “Why would it speak to me? Is this some sort of jest? I don’t care about a key.”

“‘The key is the key.’” Natasha recited, as though reading from a message. “This particular one found its way to me recently on aviary wings.”

“Ah yes. The midnight bird.” Clint sounded amused.

Steve put a hand on his temple, massaging the pounding behind his eyes. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I haven’t any clue what you’re talking about.”

“It was an actual bird,” Clint clarified. “Natasha has the best trained flock of messenger birds north of Wildecrest. They’re always bringing little gifts at opportune moments, like when we’ve just laid down for the evening.”

Natasha shrugged. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”

Steve nodded as if Clint’s explanation made a difference. His head throbbed. “Okay.” He looked at the key again as if he expected it to sprout wings and fly away. Something about the way it was broken played at the edge of his awareness.

“Does it happen to look familiar?”

Steve continued to stare at her. “I’m not you. I haven’t memorized the keys to every lock in the castle.”

Natasha sighed before taking pity on him. “I’m not asking you to know the keys to every lock in the castle. I am saying that your husband, whom you state you care about, is gone on charges of murder, and we all agree he’s unlikely to be the assassin. Does the key look familiar?”

Steve closed his hands around the key. He looked around their small room, still confused, still unsure of what was expected of him here. His head hurt, but there had to be a reason Natasha had given it to him, and there were only so many locks in the room. His eyes settled on Bucky’s untouched trunk. Steve had a flash of a memory, a remembrance of Bucky pulling out his jeweled dagger from his trunk the day of Odin’s assassination.

The key heavy in his hand, Steve walked across the room towards Bucky’s trunk. He slid it into the keyhole and hesitated before trying to turn it. With a single smooth movement, the lock clicked, and the lid popped open to reveal Bucky’s clothes and weapons. Steve touched one of the shirts as Clint muttered, “Damn bird was useful after all.”

“They always are,” Natasha murmured while Steve stopped himself from pulling out the shirt and seeing if it smelled like Bucky.

“Where did your messengers find it? Who stole Bucky’s key?” Steve asked.

He met Natasha’s eyes, the fog around his mind starting to clear. He tore out the contents of the chest, scattering clothing and other weapons, checking in cracks and crevices for hidden weapons. The dagger, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

“This is it,” Steve said. “Whoever held this key stole his dagger. They framed him. The Wakandans have the wrong man!”

“It only took a few shoves in the right direction, but you’ve figured out this much, my little spy. The truth is, I don’t know who this key came from. The faster we figure out who held this key, the faster I can get Clint to stop mooning around waiting for Bucky to come home.” Natasha smiled as she put an arm around Clint’s waist and pulled him close. “I really have to thank you, Steve. Watching the two of you fall for each other means I don’t have to worry about Clint leaving me for Bucky anymore.”

“Was never gonna leave you,” Clint said, tilting his head to brush against hers. “Though if they asked us to join them for an evening…”

Natasha grinned, leaning up to brush a kiss on his cheek.

Steve cleared his throat. “More important things right now? If you don’t mind.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for saying you wanted him dead. You have to admit no one thought it would end up like this.” Clint could have meant Bucky being in Wakanda, could have meant the war with Hela. Could have meant Steve loving Bucky in a way he never thought possible.

Steve closed his eyes, but the image of Bucky, hurt and looking up at him from the ground was burned on the back of his eyelids. “I would have bet my family’s fortune on us hating each other forever. Good thing I didn’t.” He paused and before he could stop himself, added, “Do you think he feels the same?”

Natasha and Clint exchanged a look, and Steve’s stomach took a swooping sort of dive.

“Probably?” Clint tapped a finger to his chin. “He stopped asking about ways to accidentally murder you, oh, several weeks ago.”

“For the sake of the gods, Clint, can you stop talking about death?” Natasha’s warning glare could have sent a fire running scared.

“It comes up naturally with these two. I stand by what I said.” Clint grinned and patted Steve on the arm. “If Bucky doesn’t want you dead, then you’re part of his circle.”

“How big is his circle?” Steve asked. He turned the key in his hand over and over.

“You’re standing in it.”

Steve waited for Natasha to correct Clint again, but she was nodding. He wasn’t sure that counted as an official declaration of Bucky’s love, but in a way, it fit him. Steve pocketed the key, standing up. The metal had left an imprint in his palm. It was time to figure out who was trying to frame Bucky for a murder he didn’t commit.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve didn’t know where to start, so he brought out the key at dinner and watched everyone’s reactions as he tried to imagine what Natasha would look for.

Dugan grabbed the key and looked it over. “I know a man from the Vale who can make a new key if that broken loop irritates you.”

Gabriel nodded. “Aye. Gavin does good work.”

Jim and Jacques shrugged and apologized for not being able to help.

Maxwell stiffened, his spoon dropping back to his bowl. Steve glanced his way, and he turned his attention to his bowl. “They’re right about Gavin,” he muttered. “He does good work.”

Before Steve could ask anything else, Maxwell got up, clearing his spot. “I’ll be at the practice grounds.”

The rest of the afternoon, Maxwell kept busy, always a step ahead of Steve. It strengthened Steve’s suspicions, making them blaze like wildfire, and he finally cornered Maxwell in the courtyard.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Steve held out the key, making sure to display the broken loop. Did Maxwell flinch or was that the play of the setting sun against his face? “You seem to know something about this key.”

Maxwell muttered something about a busy afternoon as he reached to take the key from Steve’s outstretched hand. He hesitated before wrapping his fingers around it. “I’ve never seen this key before. What does this matter, anyhow?” He glanced up at Steve, arranging his features into something like concern: a small smile, a comforting furrow of the brows. “Is this something to do with your husband claiming he wasn’t the assassin?”

When Maxwell mentioned Bucky, Steve tried to keep his face neutral, but he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Maxwell seemed certain that Bucky was the murderer. “Yes, I’m investigating the possibility of him being framed.”

Maxwell’s expression smoothed into understanding. “You don’t have to pretend you care for him. It’s okay. I’ll play along, tell everyone you turned over every stone.”

Steve considered his answer, torn between correcting Maxwell’s outdated view of the situation and playing along to get information from him. He tried to imagine what Natasha would do and compromised by staring at Maxwell. The silence dragged on until Maxwell was squirming under the weight of Steve’s gaze.

“I mean, you don’t care for him, right?” Maxwell gestured out to the courtyard as though encompassing the whole of the Kingdom in that small bit of space, as though everyone in the Kingdom knew he spoke the truth. “You certainly wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage if it weren’t for the King. And he’s dead.” Maxwell shoved the key back at Steve. “So forget about him. Someone was doing you a favor.”

“It’s too big to be a favor.” Steve wasn’t surprised by the fire in his voice. Bucky seemed to have melted his icy politeness. “Assassinations aren’t done as favors. And if I truly wanted to rid myself of my husband, I’m more than able.”

He stepped closer, gauging the man in front of him. Maxwell had a few years more experience and was perhaps an inch taller. Steve didn’t care. He wanted Bucky back. “I want you to think carefully. See if you can remember anything about this key.”

Maxwell’s eyes widened, and he bit his lip as he nodded. “Certainly, Captain Rogers. If I hear anything, I’ll relay it to you at once. May I attend to my duties now?”

Steve chafed at the desire to keep him there, to figure out what he was hiding. But he had no grounds to keep him longer. “I expect nothing less. You’re dismissed.” The moment Maxwell was out of sight, Steve sighed. He squared his shoulders and headed back to the castle.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky’s fingers were on fire. They burned, his skin white hot with flames. “Please help,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked like parchment left out in the sun.

Slowly, the fire receded. With a concentrated effort, Bucky was able to bring the room into focus. He looked up and found himself staring into someone’s brown eyes.

“You’re awake! Good!” The someone took a step back, and smiled.

Bucky was finally able to place the face. “Princess Shuri?” He looked around and saw Ayo standing guard against the back wall.

“Absolutely correct. How’s your arm feeling?” Shuri stepped to the side of the cot he was lying on and tapped his finger gently as she leaned over him with a conspiratorial smile. “My brother still wasn’t sold on me helping you, but M’Baku vouched for your probable innocence. So here we are.”

The words rushed through his head, flashes of memories of M’Baku following him out to the battle, him cutting through men to get to Steve, Steve falling to the ground as he shoved him over— “Steve? Where is he?”

Shuri patted Bucky’s forehead. “He’s not here, but when we left him, he was not hurt.” She paused, her smile faltering for a moment. “He didn’t want to let you go. My brother was about to threaten war again.”

“For me?” Bucky’s forehead wrinkled, but his heartbeat slowed as he considered the information. Steve was alive. Probably celebrating being free from Bucky. He tried to move his arm. Nothing, just like every time since it had been crushed.

Except...

“Did my fingers just move?” Bucky scrambled to sit up, his left arm hanging limply at his side.

But his fingers were moving. He grabbed his hand and brought it up to his face, inspecting his fingers. Streaks of glittering gold seemed to be etched into the skin. He traced the lines around his fingers.

“What in the seven hells is happening to my fingers?” Bucky couldn’t stop moving them. “Is this why they were on fire? Did you burn this into my skin?”

“Whoa there, friend.” Shuri stepped back, holding up her hands. “That’s a lot of questions, but you’re in luck, because I’m great at answers. Yes, you moved your fingers. No, I didn’t set them on fire. But. It’s entirely possible the process may be perceived as burning.” She reached forward, cupping his fingers in her hand. “I have been working on harnessing the energy of the Spirits of Bast as a means to heal broken bones and injuries.”

“That’s—” Bucky looked at his fingers again, and Shuri gave his hand a little squeeze. He _felt_ it. “That’s incredible. It’s impossible.”

Shuri’s smile was as brilliant as the sun. “No, this is Wakanda.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

“I’m convinced Maxwell recognized that key, but he wouldn’t give me anything.” Steve covered his face as he rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t mean to presume, but it seems as though this might be an area you’re suited for, Natasha.”

Natasha’s smile was as dangerous as a charging boar. “What gave you that idea, Rogers?”

“We’ve all heard the stories over the last ten years.” Steve looked up at the ceiling, recalling those stories. They weren’t always the nicest tales. “The Black Widow, they call you. Every child learns about the woman who sneaks through the darkness, capable of stealing anything or bringing anyone down with her poisoned daggers.”

“Aw. I’m a folktale already?” Natasha looked damned pleased with herself. “Tell me again what Maxwell said.”

“That I should take this whole slogging mess of a situation as a favor. That someone was trying to help me get rid of my husband.” Steve rubbed at his face, trying to ward off a headache gathering around his temples like a storm.

“Trying to break up your marriage by implicating Bucky. I think we can rule out any Barnes supporters, don’t you?” Natasha had a dagger out and she ran a finger down the blade. She nodded approvingly at its sharpness and sheathed it, before pulling out another.

“Yes.” Steve pushed his hair behind his ear and paused. “And I guess anyone with blond hair is out.”

Natasha waved that thought away. “Good try, fledgling spy, but changing hair color is only a matter of having the right ingredients. No. We’ll keep our focus on your supporters. Can you get me a list of names? Put your Maxwell at the top. I’ll visit him first.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

“This is wonderful.” Bucky stood outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun. The rays seeped into his skin, danced on his face, melted the fear in his heart. Yes, T’Challa was still looking into T’Chaka’s death, and if he came up with Bucky’s name, he would be in a sore position. But standing in the sun, knowing that he was innocent, Bucky had to hope T’Challa would come to the same conclusion.

Shuri had helped him wrap up his broken arm in a fabric sling before leading him to a small village just outside of the castle. Little circular houses made of mud with thatched straw roofs stood scattered along paths through the dirt. Children played, running along paths between the houses, dodging men and women who were working at various tasks—preparing food, mending clothing, and enjoying each other’s company. In the distance, people were at work in the fields.

Shuri stopped at one house just a few steps farther away than the others. “This is for you.”

Bucky pushed aside the cloth drapes and ducked under the door. There was a woven mat on the hard floor and some warm woolen blankets. “It looks perfect. Thank you. But your brother? The King? He’s not afraid I’m going to run away?”

“M’Baku assured him of your character. And where would you go? No. You have been spoken for as an honorable man, and we will treat you as such unless the evidence proves otherwise.” Shuri handed him a bag, and Bucky reached inside to find some bread and a waterskin. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You can explore, but please don’t wander farther than the fields or go through the castle without someone guiding you.”

Bucky nodded. “Thank you, Princess. This is more than I expected.”

Shuri waved her hand. “Nonsense. Besides, it’s not often I get a chance to work on such a grievous injury. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Glad to help out.”

Shuri left, and Bucky found his right hand brushing at his hip, instinctively touching for his sword, feeling for a knife. He looked out at the children laughing and playing, and the urge to be armed abated. Somewhere, a goat bleated. He thought about Steve fighting against Hela’s army and closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath.

No, he wasn’t able to fight right now, but at least he had staved off a war between Midgard and Wakanda. That had to count for something, right?

 

~ ★ ~

 

“He’s going to lose that arm, isn’t he?” Steve paced as Sam sat nearby. The number of patients in the medical tents had been steadily declining as everyone rushed to prepare for the battle tomorrow. “There’s no way he won’t.”

“Well, you know I didn’t see him, but what you’re describing sounds quite severe.” Sam looked up, as though the answer was in the clouds. “And at first I’d hoped that maybe you were just shook up, remembering it as worse than it was. Then I talked to Bruce and Gabriel about what they saw...” Sam trailed off.

Steve cursed. “I was trying to get everyone to move! And he just goes and pushes _me_ out of the way?”

“Look. I’m not saying he’ll lose anything. There’s always a chance if they set it perfectly that he could keep the arm, maybe even be able to use it some.” Sam met Steve’s eyes. “But regardless, it was his choice to push you out of the way. You didn’t order him to do that.”

“I don’t know what to say. I just want to go back, change what happened. Make it so I never heard the words ‘marriage’ and ‘James Barnes’ in the same sentence.” Steve stopped pacing long enough to catch Sam’s knowing look.

“Do you really?” Sam’s eyebrow was arched, and he patted the ground next to him. “Sit down. You’re making my head hurt.”

Steve dropped to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I just want him back. Gods, Sam. Am I that pathetic?”

“A little, my friend.” Sam grinned as he gave Steve a thump on the shoulder. “When you get him back, I’ll remind you of everything you said the day Loki showed up at Starfell.”

Steve’s smile was a lot more rueful. “I believe I can recall those words without your assistance.”

Bruce popped his head out of the medical tent, looking around. He spotted Sam and waved. “Hey! Uh. Sorry. But can you help me here? I need another set of hands.”

“Of course. I told you I wouldn’t go far.” Sam got to his feet and offered a hand to Steve. “Alright. Up and at them. Are you sleeping?”

“No.” There was no point in lying.

“Go take a nap. Surgeon’s orders.” Sam headed into the tent.

Steve waited for a moment, debated with the idea of peeking inside the tent to confirm that Bucky was really gone. He sighed, straightened his scabbard at his side, and headed over to the practice fields. He could sleep when he was dead.

And if things went badly tomorrow, well, he’d catch up on his sleep sooner.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Close your eyes,” Shuri commanded, and Bucky obeyed, shutting out Shuri in front of him and Ayo standing guard behind them.

He wanted to keep looking around. Shuri’s rooms were amazing—the whole castle was well-constructed and grand. But she had asked him to keep his eyes closed, and she was trying to help him.

“You’re going to feel warmth, starting at your fingertips. Do you feel my hand?” Shuri clasped her fingers through his, her sturdy hand belying her young age.

“Yes.” Her fingers were warm against his. Just being able to feel with fingers he had thought useless made him smile. Then the burning began, and he flinched, trying to pull his hand away. His shoulder didn’t move. His arm stayed where it was. The heat began to flow up his arm exactly how he’d imagined sticking his hand into the sun might feel. It was worse than the time he’d dropped boiling water on his foot sneaking into the kitchens as a young boy.

Shuri hummed. “Are you okay?”

Bucky tried to nod as he whimpered. Feeling nothing in his arm was devastating, but setting it on fire swung the pendulum too far in the other direction. Pinpricks of heat burned their way through his palm and the back of his hand, settled in his wrist for a long minute before searing up into his forearm. He screamed, and it stopped instantly as Shuri pulled her hand away.

“You can open your eyes,” she said, her voice a beautiful tether pulling him away from the pain. “Let’s take a moment.”

Bucky’s chest heaved as he sucked in air, blinking away the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. He blew out a breath, trying to stop himself from shaking. Shuri was looking at her notes, flipping through pages of pictures and words written in a script different from what he was used to seeing.

“I’m sorry.” She looked up from her notes. “It’s never been this bad before. It might be an incompatibility.”

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice yet. He looked down at his hand. Gold lines cut through his skin, shining between sections of charred flesh. He stared as he curled his hand into a fist and then looked over at Shuri, gesturing at it with his other hand. “I can move my hand. I don’t care… I don’t care how much it hurts.”

 

 

Shuri frowned, scribbling furiously on the side of a page. “Yes, well. The last thing I want is to overload your body and shut down your heart.”  
  
“Can that really happen?” Bucky touched his chest, his heart thumping beneath his fingers. “Using my arm is nice, but—”

“It is theoretical. I have never had it happen.” Shuri sighed and put down her notes, grabbing Bucky’s hand again.

He flinched, but there was no burning.

“I’m not channeling anything into your arm right now. But perhaps we can just do a little each day.” She put on a grin but behind that, her eyes were sad as she looked at Bucky. “After all, we have nothing but time right now, yes?”

“I miss him,” Bucky whispered. “The bastard.”

“Ah. And does ‘bastard’ mean something different up north?” Shuri raised an eyebrow.

Bucky smiled. “No, it doesn’t. He just brings out the best in me like that.” He glanced down at their entwined fingers. “Can we try one more time today? It just—I promise I won’t scream this time.”

Shuri shook her head. “Do not be like my brother. Let me know when it hurts too much. I’ll help you only if you promise not to lie to me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now, close your eyes. And maybe think some cold thoughts. I can’t guarantee it will help, but it certainly can’t hurt.”

Bucky closed his eyes and pictured Steve out in the ice and cold, wearing his gods-be-damned fur-lined cloak and nothing else. He smiled.

And then the burning started again.

 

~ ★ ~


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky grunted as he pumped water from the well, using his arm to steady the bucket. He tried to grab the handle and lift it with his left arm, but couldn’t clasp his fingers around it completely, so he switched it to his right. He brought the water down to the two women cooking at the fires.

Nomuula spoke to him in a language that he was still far from beginning to understand. Kuhle’s gentle smiles helped him piece together a guess that they were thanking him. He brought them another pail of water, and they nodded. That was enough for now.

Children swarmed around him. The oldest girl, Esihle, grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the crisp meat cooking on the flames. Over the past few days, she had learned that Bucky was always willing to run and play with her and her friends.

He followed them to the fields. He held back, running at their pace. Every now and again the kids would cheer and try to race him, and he'd let them win sometimes and sprint with everything he had other times. The simple joy of making the children smile eased his mind, let him stay in the moment. When he lay down to sleep, everything whirled around inside of him like a dust storm. The worry that Steve was still out there fighting rose up out of the storm. The desperate want for a sign that Steve missed him assaulted him.

He wasn’t sure exactly when the raging hatred for Steve in his heart had cooled, but what lived in his chest now was a soft pulse of hope. Hope that they could have a good future together. He knew they both just needed to survive long enough to see that hope through.

Hours of running later, when Bucky sat down to catch his breath, he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to find a flame. He blinked, trying to clear his mind. He tried to push the urge aside, the same way he did whenever Steve floated in his thoughts. He could have run for hours more, and it wouldn't have made a difference.

Like his thoughts of Steve, it was a constant itch. The desire was a bug nipping at the back of his head, refusing to leave him.

He smiled and waved to the children. “I’ll be back,” he said, wondering if they understood him.

One of the older boys, Luthando, nodded. They all watched him go.

Bucky walked to the village, and the grass underfoot gave way to soft dirt as he approached the large cooking fire. In the shade of the houses, Nomuula and Kuhle sat and chatted while they kept an eye on the food. The sun beat down on Bucky’s hair as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He breathed out, opening his eyes and staring into the orange and yellow flames as they roared up towards the sky.

The wisps of fire seemed to beckon him in, inviting him to come closer. Bucky took another step, past the point of comfortable warmth. His face heated as he started to sweat.

He felt like a fool.

The wind whispered around him, a breeze that helped push away some of the discomfort. Hadn’t his arm hurt more than these flames? This heat was nothing compared to the all-encompassing burn when Shuri worked on him. For a brief, mad second, Bucky imagined that he could step into the flames and walk out the other side, unburned.

He stepped back, forcing his breathing to slow down. His heart raced. Nomuula came and put a firm hand on his shoulder, as if to guide him out of the sun.

“Wait,” he whispered.

He cast his eyes to the flames again, staring them down. That pull, that call to come closer and pass through the heat tugged at him as surely as a rope tied around his body. He resisted the pull, dug his heels into the ground, and glared at the flames.

The breeze swirling around him made him shiver as it grew strong and kicked up dirt and ashes, tossing them in the fire. Despite the overwhelming heat, Bucky's blood seemed to chill in his veins as the ashes swirled and coalesced into an image. For a too-long moment, Bucky swore he saw Steve’s face contorted in fear and agony. 

It dissolved in a cloud of dust.

The fire seemed to burn brighter, hotter, and this time, Bucky walked away. He sat in the shade with the Nomuula and Kuhle for awhile until the worst of his sweating had passed. His thoughts threatening to overwhelm him, he helped them as best as he could for the rest of the afternoon.

Steve’s face, twisted with pain, was branded across his mind.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“We march to death,” Steve said as he stood in front of his men and pretended that exhaustion wasn't wrapped around him like snakes. He kept silent the part where they were marching to _their_ deaths, didn’t flinch as he considered the possibility that he would never return home, wherever that was. His eyes burned with a lack of sleep, and his chest felt so empty, like a piece of him was missing, like if someone looked hard enough, they would see the hole in his heart. “We _will_ take down Hela’s army. We will ensure the Kingdom’s safety. We will ensure our children grow up without the fear and destruction of war.”

He wanted to collapse on his bed and sleep. He wanted to open his eyes and have Bucky back. Steve swallowed, reflecting on the years of war his family had waged in an otherwise peaceful Kingdom. How many children had learned to fear because of him?

Steve scanned the room and met eyes with Gabriel, Dugan, Falsworth, everyone in the squad. They stood at attention, grim determination woven into the set of their shoulders. They glanced at the space where Bucky would have stood next to Steve.

They would fight. If Bucky was still alive in Wakanda, Steve would fight whoever he needed to get back to him. He set his feet and spoke with a conviction forged in the fire of Bucky’s image. “Are you with me?”

“We’re with you!” Gabriel bellowed.

Dugan and Falsworth hoisted their weapons in a cheer while the others shouted. “For Midgard!”

Steve locked eyes with Maxwell.

Maxwell looked away.

Steve led his group through the castle grounds to the main staging area. Lady Sif sat on her dapple gray destrier, its coat glimmering in the afternoon light as though it’d been bathed in silver. She rode up and down rows of men, ensuring order. She saw Steve, and rode over.

“Well met, Captain Rogers. Thor has requested your squad up on the front lines for the initial attack.”

Steve nodded, his back iron. If bringing down Hela was the only way to see Bucky again, he’d be more than happy to ensure he was the one who drove the sword through her heart. They walked in silence across the field, passing squads that they’d grown to know and appreciate over the past months. Noticing the absence of people no longer standing with them.

They settled in place as Thor and Loki came riding to the front of the field. Thor gave a speech about the importance of the fight, calling on the gods to favor them in battle. The words were lost on the wind. Steve stared forward as though he could see Hela in the distance.

They began to march.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“So you see things in the fire?” Shuri asked as Bucky walked past Ayo at the door, greeting her before he climbed onto the familiar cot in Shuri’s room. “Like, pictures? Or people?”

Bucky nodded. “Both. Usually people.”

Shuri’s eyes sparkled. “Their whole bodies or just their faces? Can you tell who they are?”

Bucky closed his eyes and saw Steve burning. “Yeah, I can tell,” he said, opening his eyes and focusing on the detailed drawings on the walls. They were real. Steve burning was not real. “Sometimes the ashes swirl around to form a picture. Sometimes the flames seem to weave together to make a pattern. My mother is fond of reminding me that not everyone can see into the flames and that I should be thankful for the gift.”

“I’ve heard of this supposed Fire God a few times in my studies.” Shuri was thoughtful as she took Bucky’s fingers in hers, touching the golden lines embedded in the healing skin. “It’s always been with the assumption that the practitioners are experiencing hallucinations or perhaps even psychotic.” She studied Bucky with the intensity he’d come to expect from her. “Having seen you, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky had to glance away from Shuri’s all-knowing gaze. It was as if she could look inside him, see how every part of his body worked. Could she see the part of him that belonged to Steve?

“Let’s try something different this time.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Don’t close your eyes. I want you to focus on your arm right where I am going to be working.” She pointed to a spot just below his elbow, where the gold lines—and ability to move—stopped.

Bucky swallowed, trying to steady his hands. Tendrils of flame already seemed to be wrapping themselves around his arm even though he was pretty sure Shuri hadn’t started the process yet.

“Ok. Concentrate.” Shuri slid her fingers up Bucky’s forearm until her thumb rested on the pulse point in the crook of his elbow.

Taking deep breaths, Bucky watched. His veins began to burn, and a shiver ran down his spine. He flinched at a tight burst of pain and closed his eyes. Immediately, he pictured Steve surrounded by flames. He forced his eyes back open. Shuri was leaning over his arm, only her forehead visible. He stared at his skin and blinked back tears that threatened to spill as the searing pain grew worse.

He _was_ burning. Tiny fires sprang up on his skin, singeing the flesh and leaving golden stripes in their wake. Shuri moved her fingers up, spreading them across his arm. The fire shimmered as it skipped from her fingers into his arm.

Bucky couldn’t look away from the flames. They began to dance across his muscles, leaping like tiny animals. Enthralled, Bucky forgot the pain. He leaned in, watching the cat-like creatures stalking across his skin.

“Do you see this?” Bucky asked, incredulous. He had to stop himself from reaching with his other hand to touch them. “The cats?”

Shuri shook her head. “I see your skin burning without flame. I can feel the energy moving across your arm like an animal.” She lifted her fingers, and Bucky’s arm buzzed for a moment longer before the fiery animals receded, poofing into a near translucent wisp of smoke.

Once they were gone, he touched his skin. It was so warm and tender. “What does it mean?”

“When I’ve worked with other injuries in the past, it’s never burned anyone. Not this badly, anyhow. Usually the skin is darker right around the gold lines.” Shuri held his arm and carefully traced the patterns etched into his skin. “But I’ve never worked with a flame watcher.”

“I’m not,” Bucky grumbled, frowning. His voice cut across the room like a thrown dagger, forceful enough to have Ayo raising an eyebrow. It was more vehemence than he wanted, and he tried to redirect the conversation. “I’m grateful that you can help me.”

Shuri didn’t press the point, just went to her desk to scribble down some notes. “I love a good project. Tell me what you saw. I want to record the details now if you’re able.”

Bucky nodded, trying to shove away the image of Steve’s face burning in the flames.

 

~ ★ ~

 

“Hold steady!” Steve shouted. His words were whipped away by the whirlwind of chaos around them.

He flung up his arm, deflecting a blade cutting through the air as he twisted his sword up to block another. The clash of metal on metal rang in his ears. Voices filled the air as commanders called out orders and soldiers shouted. People all around screamed in pain.

Gabriel and Dugan flanked Steve as they inched forward, trying to fight through to Hogun’s squad. Hela’s army closed in from too many sides, slamming in like waves pounding the surf, and Steve grunted as he cut down another attacker. Dugan whooped, giving Steve another surge of energy. He got his blade up again. Around them, everyone fought for their lives, surrounded by a tide of warriors in green and bone. What Hela lacked in trebuchets, she made up for in forces. The enemy swarmed and directed their attacks at weak points in the lines, forcing Thor’s army to regroup and reposition, kicking up dirt and tripping over bodies.

Steve grunted as he blocked a mace trying to smash through his skull. He shouted as he pushed back, stabbing between the plates of his opponent’s armor, trying to force him down as quickly as possible.

They gained another inch. Steve was sweating inside his armor despite the sun setting in the distance, despite the gods-be-damned clouds rolling in above them.

Falsworth cried out to the side, and Steve cursed. He was so damn tired of hearing the screams, feeling like every time they advanced, someone had to pay with their life. His curses rang in the air as he charged ahead, leaving Gabriel and Dugan scrambling to follow.

Finally united with Hogun’s squad, they spread out in a circle, knocking back attackers and trying to drive a wedge into Hela’s advance. Metal clanged over and over again, a chorus backed by the ever-present drumbeat.

“Had enough of this gods-be-damned war,” Dugan called as he drew his sword out of one body just in time to parry an attack. He kicked, hard, and the soldier crumpled to the ground. “They just don’t give up.”

“Neither do we.” Steve sucked in a breath as he saw Lady Sif charging through the line with her calvary. Thor and Loki were riding behind her, heading into the center of the fighting.

“The King’s going to get himself killed!” Gabriel groaned, ducking to avoid the same fate.

“He’s trying to draw her out.” Steve eyed the battles around them, pockets of fighting surrounding them.

“Surely she wouldn’t appear just to attack them?” Dugan sent another man to his knees and raised his sword to the darkening sky in a taunt.

“If she tries to run, she’ll find that Natasha doesn’t play nicely with her catches.” Steve saw motion just beyond the front lines—archers lined up behind Hela’s footsoldiers, pulling back flaming arrows. “Flaming hells! Fire arrows! Get down!”

Hela’s archers loosed their arrows, aiming beyond Steve and his men. Someone shouted in the distance, a hoarse cry that rose above the other noises, and Steve turned to watch the battlefield behind them begin to burn. Everywhere the flaming arrows struck, the ground exploded with bright green flames.

Steve opened his mouth to give orders, but words failed him as he watched groups of Thor’s army fall to the ground, seared alive by the ever-burning wildfire. He couldn’t order his men back towards the flames, but the only other option was charging deeper into the enemy lines.

Emerald fires bathed the battlefield in an unearthly glow as the sun fell behind the horizon. It reflected in waves off the armor of Hela’s warriors, enveloping everything with a surreal sense of looking through water.

Steve didn’t think, he just did. He fought, clashing against enemy after enemy, trusting that his men had his back. He fell into a rhythm as easy as breathing, attacking on instinct. It had to be enough to get them through. They couldn’t go back, not where the green fires still burned on nothing but ashes.

His breathing was harsh in his ears. The wind had stopped moving around him and the smells of the dying stagnated in his nose. He lost sight of Sif and Thor and Loki as several of Hela’s personal guards rode into battle on giant wolves.

“Fuck me,” Steve whispered as he watched the nearest wolf snap at a fighter, biting through the man’s arm. “She’s always got something!”

They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t go through. Steve heaved a breath, catching Dugan’s eye. Gabriel fell in beside him.

“If we fall, we go down saving the King.” It was all he could manage. Steve thought he’d looked death in the eye before, but nothing compared to the sinking helplessness of watching men die to flames and fire and giant beasts.

They charged once more. Dugan fell to a lunging wolf even as Steve managed to dismount the rider, and Gabriel came in from the side to wound the beast. Everything around them swirled into a timeless mess of anguish and pain, sweat dripping into his eyes and running down his face to mix with the blood of his enemies.

Steve thought he saw Thor again, on his feet, his horse nowhere to be seen as Hela advanced on him with a giant spear that glinted green in the wildfirelight.

“Get to Thor,” he shouted as though someone could hear him. Another frantic jolt of energy pounded through his body, running down his aching arms and forcing his exhausted legs forward.

It had to be enough.

He had only gotten four steps before he was cut off by another wolfrider, and he jumped back to avoid losing a hand. Intuition was the only thing guiding his sword up over his head, into the charging wolf’s mouth, and out through the back of its head. The wolf thrashed, dismounting its rider and forcing Steve to let go of his sword lest he, too, be flung through the air.

Gabriel was facing off against another wolfrider, and Steve pulled a knife from his belt, trying to advance on the fallen wolf to retrieve his sword.

Another cry went up, a strangled sound that seemed like…

…a cheer?

A battle cry.

Like a burst dam bringing rushing waters, Valkyries flooded the battlefield from the north and the south, riding in on beautiful white chargers. Bryn led the attack in full Valkyrie armor and warpaint, leaping her horse over the fighting and dodging wolves until she was at Loki’s side.

Steve didn’t wait to see what she did next as Valkyries streamed across the battlefield like a relentless tide. He just grabbed his sword and did what he did best—sticking the enemies with the pointy end.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Life was going to get a lot better when kings stopped taking an interest in him, Bucky decided as he sat and let T’Challa inspect his arm.

“You can move it? Completely?” T’Challa asked after a minute.

Bucky nodded, turning his hand over and reaching to pick up a cup. He marveled at the fact that he could feel the cup, could bring it to his lips. The whole of his arm up to his shoulder glittered with lines of golden scars flanked by pink, scabbed skin.

M’Baku lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, but can you fight?” He grinned. “We ought to test it, see if the King’s little sister does as good work as everyone says.”

Shuri matched his gaze. “While I doubt you’d have the advantage, I’d prefer you not try to damage my hard work so soon.”

“M’Baku.” T’Challa spoke with the tethered patience of a long-suffering parent. “Won’t the others be waiting for your return?”

“They have managed without me for the last few weeks. Another day or so will only make my return sweeter.” M’Baku put his hands on his hips, standing at his full height. “So, James Barnes, will you accept my friendly challenge?”

Bucky put the cup down, and looked up to M’Baku. Surrounded by royalty and uncertain of how he should respond to the challenge, he found himself saying, “I really imagined my surrender going differently.”

Okoye scoffed, just quiet enough that only Bucky and T’Challa seemed to hear it.

“What did you expect?” T’Challa asked.

“I imagine he expected the dungeons. To lose an arm.” Okoye gave a little shrug. “Instead you have given him menial chores, a new chance at life, and goats.”

“Ah. Allow me to apologize on behalf of Wakanda for depriving you of your wishes.” T’Challa laughed.

“Thank you, but of course, I am the one who should be giving thanks. For you not condemning me to your dungeons to rot. For you allowing Princess Shuri to attend to my arm. She really has done the impossible.”

“Which only reinforces the need to test it out,” M’Baku interrupted. “I vouched for you; I ought to be able to use that to my advantage.”

"All in good time, M’Baku.” T’Challa put his hand up to prevent additional remarks. M’Baku sat back, crossing his arms and holding his tongue for the moment. T’Challa’s entire demeanor shifted as he leaned forward, his hands on the table. “I’ve been working on my investigation, and the truth is that my father did have enemies, but none can be traced to his death. Now that you’ve had time to recover, it is time for me to figure out what you know, Sir James.”

“I’m willing to provide any information you need, Your Majesty.” Bucky shifted in his seat, hoping he had something useful to add to the discussion lest T’Challa start to rethink his clemency.

“Why would someone frame you?” T’Challa asked. “Tell me about your enemies.”

“Well, that would have been Sir Steven Rogers up until the lovely wedding ceremony we attended.” M’Baku called out the answer before Bucky could open his mouth.

T’Challa and Okoye exchanged a look. Okoye mouthed, “Log thrower,” and T’Challa looked slightly confused.

“I had heard about King Odin’s attempt at deterring wars between your families,” T’Challa said, turning back to Bucky. “Should we expect that this Steven might try to indict you?”

Bucky considered T’Challa’s question as the room went quiet. Bucky could picture Steve’s face the first time they met face to face after learning they would be married together. He remembered the ice in Steve’s voice when they had been forced to talk, to pretend to make nice with each other. The way Steve had accused _him_ of trying to assassinate Odin.

He remembered the way Steve had begged Bucky to fuck him harder the last time they’d been together.

“I think that Steve is honorable,” Bucky managed. He swallowed, remembering how Steve had ridden to protect the Princes during the hunt on only Bucky’s word. “As much as he might hate—” _Me_. “—my family, his quarrel is with them alone.” Steve had jumped off the gods-be-damned wall to protect Barnes family supporters. “He would never consider the loss of a life to be an acceptable trade to rid himself of me.”

M’Baku was nodding. “James here is likely telling the truth. My interactions with Steven echo his words.”

“Supporters, then?” T’Challa was thorough, questioning Bucky about every banner under the Rogers family. Bucky supposed he ought to be thankful for his tutor forcing him to learn about each minor House.

Hours of discussion later, they didn’t appear to be any closer to a suspect. Bucky felt like he was missing something important, something that should be easy to see, but he didn’t, and he was tired.

“We can’t risk sending messengers to Midgard until we have heard word that the war is over.” T’Challa regarded Bucky. Even after hours of questioning, he remained calm and thoughtful. “I will have watchers in the mountains in case a messenger is dispatched to us. I suspect the only news we will get is that of a victory. Silence will let us know that your Kingdom has fallen.

“Either way, you’re going to have to get used to life in Wakanda. M’Baku, allow Shuri to provide the rules for combat. You may have your fight with James if she deems him ready.”

Bucky stared at the table, wishing hopelessly that he could talk to someone about Steve. Hoping that their last time together hadn’t really been their last time.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Wanting nothing more than to crumple back to his knees and sleep for a week, Steve forced himself to stand. Though the commotion of shouts and people moving through the battlefield continued, it was coupled with an odd sort of silence. The war drums were silent. No weapons clashed.

Hela was no longer a threat. Her death at Bryn’s hands had turned the battle swiftly, her remaining men surrendering and laying down their weapons.

The wildfire had finally been put out by the concentrated effort of soldiers smothering it with ashes and dirt gathered from under dead bodies. Now the medics and surgeons triaged the survivors, and Steve did his duty by his squad, searching for wounded to bring to the hastily pitched tents. Gabriel searched with him. Together, they brought a stunned Dugan and injured Jacques and Jim to the medics.

Falsworth’s body was already cold by the time they found him, and Steve held himself rigid as he put a hand on Falsworth’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, friend,” he said quietly, closing Falsworth’s eyes.

Gabriel squeezed Steve’s shoulder. There were tears in his eyes. “We will not forget him.”

It hurt, but not as much as the guilty thought Steve had that at least Bucky hadn’t been at this battle. If T’Challa had kept his word, at least Bucky was surviving.

If his injuries hadn’t killed him first.

Steve stopped by the medical tents just long enough to confirm that the very busy Sam was still alive. He had accounted for everyone on the squad except Maxwell, who he found helping clear the field near the southernmost corner of the battle.

Steve’s arms ached and every movement pulled at his battle-tired shoulders. His fingers were near to numb from the fighting. And they would still have to march back to the castle in the morning. He almost sat down on the trampled and burned ground, but a thought of Bucky had him dragging himself to keep helping.

Natasha slipped in next to Steve as he worked on setting up more tents. “Your new friend is sending me around in circles.”

“What’s that mean?” Steve pounded a pole into the muddy ground, trying to be thankful that it wasn’t raining tonight.

“He’s lying. I don’t know exactly what about, though.” Natasha paused.

Steve tied the tent strap once around the pole and waited for Natasha to continue.

“Tell me about our suspected dagger stealer.”

With a glance to see who was around, Steve dropped his voice. “The Revenars have supported my father since the battle of Brightglass. They hadn’t picked a side up until then. Maxwell has been a vocal bannerman since.”

“What exactly happened at Brightglass to convince them to pick a side?” Natasha asked.

Steve suspected she knew, but the whole event had been a mess of misunderstandings and too many dead. “His parents had sent his younger sisters there to study. They knew the Clarkes supported the Barnes family, but thought that the keep was north enough to be free from our conflict.”

“We all thought that,” Natasha agreed. After a sliver of a pause, she added, “Anything else?”

“He has ties to the Vale and a sizeable fortune through his deceased wife. She had three children before him, that he raises.”

“Interesting. Keep up the good work, Rogers.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at the name, but Natasha was already moving, slipping between tents and fading into the darkness at the perimeter of the camp. Steve was left with more questions than answers, but no energy to ponder them.

Falling asleep without the war looming over them was another small victory that was swiftly destroyed the next morning as the final death counts began to circulate through the camp.

The march back to the castle was bitter, a cup of victory steeped in sorrow. Bryn and the remaining Valkyries rode behind Thor and Loki. Hogun was gone, his squad marching with half the men it started with. The clouds couldn’t make up their mind, blotting out the sun with grayness one moment and splitting apart at the seams to spill blinding light through the next.

The arrived back to Asgard, and Thor addressed them all in the throne room. “What we witnessed last night was nothing short of miraculous. The reformation of the Valkyries.”

Loki led the cheers, but when he tried to catch Bryn’s eye, she looked away.

“Your services to the Throne have already been invaluable,” Thor continued, speaking directly to Bryn. “I would ask that you will remain and reforge a new path with us.”

Steve knew what he was watching was monumental, but he couldn’t tear his thoughts away from Bucky.

 

~ ★ ~

 

The week dragged on as the clouds refused to let up, rain clinging to every surface of the castle. Steve was standing on the battlements when Natasha found him, his hair plastered to the side of his face, the back of his head, water dripping down his clothing.

“Not the best place to be in a storm,” Natasha called out over the rain.

Steve had heard her footsteps before her voice, a sure sign that she wasn’t trying to sneak up on him. At least, not this time. “It’s better than sitting alone inside.” He didn’t add that when he closed his eyes, he still pretended the rain was Bucky’s fingers on his back.

“He’ll come and talk to you,” Natasha was saying.

Steve blinked at her, rain flicking from the ends of his eyelashes. “Bucky?” The name slipped out before he realized how inane he sounded, as if Bucky was just hiding in another wing of the sprawling castle and not in a completely different Kingdom, guarded by a King who thought him guilty of murder.

Natasha’s smile was gentle. “No. Maxwell. I’ve gotten a few birds from some traders out of Seahollow. They’ve given me some good information that puts _him_ at King T’Chaka’s death. I want to go to Thor with this at the feast tonight. I’ll bet every arrow Clint owns that Maxwell will come to you with a story. Something to try to prove he wasn’t there.”

“Why are you telling me this? If you have the information you need?” Steve forced his thoughts away from Bucky’s beautiful, fiery eyes, from memories of his lithe muscles writhing underneath him.

The rain was streaming down Natasha’s face, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m saying he’s going to tell you something else, anything else, to convince you that it wasn’t him. So he can pass the blame and avoid the consequences. And I need to know who you’re going to believe.”

Steve paused, thinking of Bucky. “I trust you, Natasha. That’s why I went to you. You’re Bucky’s friend and, well. Fuck. You know how I feel about him. If you were going to mess with my chance to get vengeance on whoever did this to us, well, then I wouldn’t know who to trust anymore.”

“Good. Though as my apprentice spider, you should already know not to trust anyone.” Natasha made a show of wiping water from her face. “Now let’s get you inside. Dry you off. Make you presentable. Tonight the Kingdom is going to celebrate, and we’re going to get you one step closer to reunited with your husband.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve’s hair dried in waves courtesy of the moisture permeating the air. He had just changed into his formal uniform when there was a knock at the door to his and Bucky’s rooms. Thor had offered the elaborate suites once again in place of the tiny commanding office, and Steve, unable to decide which bed brought him worse memories, decided he appreciated the extra space for pacing.

He had barely called out, “Come in,” when Maxwell entered the anteroom.

Steve came out from the bedroom and watched him, did his best to determine if Maxwell always grinned like that when he talked to Steve.

"Captain Rogers.” Maxwell smiled, so damned earnest that Steve was already on edge. “Though I suppose with the war over, it’s Steve once again.”

Steve frowned. If Natasha’s sources were correct, he was standing in front of the very reason why Bucky was a Kingdom away, hurt and possibly dead. Steve shoved that thought down. If he thought on that now, he might not let Maxwell leave the room alive.

“Captain Rogers is fine.” Ice permeated every syllable.

“Right. Captain.” Maxwell faltered before he seemed to consider his options. He straightened his back and nodded. “I hope I don’t need to remind you of the loyalty my House has pledged to your House. The loyalty that I have pledged to you. Truly, when the former King announced your marriage to Barnes, I was as outraged as you must have been.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps not quite so much as you.” Maxwell put up his hands. “But dismayed just the same at such an ineloquent arrangement.”

“No.” Steve wanted to make Maxwell squirm. “Your House had been neutral for decades before joining the fight.”

Maxwell’s eyes darkened as he clenched his fist. “True may that might be, when the Barnes family chose to let Liliana and Margie die at Brightglass, they earned our undying hatred.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Ever since then, our loyalty has been unwavering. I will follow you without question, do whatever you ask of me. It is the least I can do to honor my sisters.”

Steve bowed his head. His burning anger for Maxwell could be set aside for a moment to remember those who had died. It only solidified his resolve. He and Bucky couldn’t let the fighting start again. The silence stretched as Steve lapsed into thoughts of Bucky and after a few minutes, Maxwell cleared his throat.

Looking up as though surprised to see him still there, Steve tilted his head. The red anger on Maxwell’s face had receded. He had his mask in place, his forehead smooth and an earnest smile on his lips that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“You’re a smart man, Captain Rogers. It’s what I’ve always liked about you. So I’m hoping you’re smart enough to know that there’s been some stirring on the Barnes side of the aisle. As it were.”

Pressing his lips into a line, Steve nodded. “Go on.” Did Maxwell truly believe Steve was on his side? That Steve still hated Bucky? That _sides_ mattered with so many deaths across the Kingdom?

“The Widow’s trying to dump the blame of the murder of King T’Chaka on us. On me.” Maxwell cut to the point, professing his innocence with a detailed, thorough explanation, but Steve listened with only half an ear. The realization that just months ago he would have believed every word Maxwell was saying washed over him like a glass of spoiled wine.

“So you understand? My mother is sick and won’t remember if I was there or not. She might claim I was gone. But I was taking care of her until I came here to fight at the King’s orders. I swear it.” Maxwell was smiling, calm. He didn’t seem concerned. He was loyal to Steve.

Steve would have believed him.

“Thank you for sharing your concerns.” Steve tried on a friendly smile, but his forehead crinkled just the same. Natasha would have been disappointed, but Steve had never pretended to be a spy. Being a warrior had always suited him just fine. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Steve waited for the horns to sound with each bite of food, each sip of wine. His squad—no longer his squad, just men of the Kingdom—sat with him. They tapped their fingers on the table and flinched at the scrape of a spoon on the plate.

They waited for Falsworth and Bucky to stroll in late, the two of them ready to share some new gods-be-damned joke with the crew. But the hall stayed without laughter, and their spots remained empty.

Steve stared up at the throne, watching Natasha approach Thor. Steve was so detached from the situation that it was like looking at a picture. It was only when Maxwell stood up to defend himself and Thor began calling for the sudden shouting to stop that Steve understood it was really happening.

Natasha’s connections had pinned the assassination on Maxwell. Steve pushed away from the table, getting to his feet. He had managed to hold back in his rooms, back when there was still a sliver of a chance that Maxwell might go free.

Steve strode between the tables, ignoring glances and calls and orders to sit down. Nothing short of a spear through his stomach would stop him from facing the person responsible for tearing Bucky away from him.

Somehow, he had his hands around Maxwell’s collar, pulling him close.

“Why?” It was all Steve could force out as Bryn came between them, placing a calm hand on Steve’s chest and pushing him back, just a step.

Just enough for Steve to take a breath.

Maxwell brushed his shirt even as two other members of the Kingsguard flanked him at Thor’s order. “Everything I did for you was to watch his family fall.” He paused, glancing at Steve again, almost shy.

Steve stopped. “All of this? For me?”

Maxwell shrugged, a little tug of his shoulders. “Now that I know the truth of you and Barnes, I guess it no longer matters. I suppose you know something about doing anything for the person you love.”

Steve shook his head. The hall was silent, save for Thor nodding for the Kingsguard to take Maxwell away for T’Challa’s judgement. “That isn’t love. You murdered a _King_.”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same for Barnes?” Maxwell met Steve’s eyes. “Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t do the same for him.”

Silent, Steve watched them take Maxwell away.

 

 

~ ★ ~


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky held his claymore with both hands. Though he was only allowed to be armed for the length of the duel, holding his weapon properly was a homecoming. With a sword in his grip, he was complete once more, except for the hole in his heart where Steve belonged. Bucky saluted M’Baku who, despite being dressed only in furs around his waist, didn’t seem concerned. M'Baku held himself steady, his grip on his staff light and sure. Bucky, dressed the same, felt more naked than he’d ever been for a fight. That included the time he had stood armed with only a knife and naked before Steve days before their wedding, though he wasn't sure what they ended up doing could be termed a fight.

“I will go easy on you,” M’Baku said with a grin that promised the opposite.

Bucky tightened his grip, overjoyed that his entire arm responded as easily as if he'd never been injured. The scabbed flesh around the golden scars was healing one day at a time. A glance at Shuri revealed that she was watching from a spot near the rocks. The dueling area was a small, shallow pond by a gorgeous, rushing waterfall. Shuri had pointed out the official challenge location farther down the rocks, which was for challengers of the King only. A giant waterfall spilled down the side of the steep cliff, and Bucky was thankful that his feet were on solid, closed-off ground. He had no desire to be near those roaring waters.

The water was cold on his bare feet, but weeks of practicing on the rain and mud-slicked battlements had given him some semblance of balance training. Bucky nodded again, and the duel began.

M’Baku roared as he charged forward, staff at the ready. Bucky managed to duck the initial blow and pivot almost gracefully, stumbling on a loose rock and catching his footing all in the same breath.

He had to let instinct guide his return attack and whipped his blunted sword around as fast as he could, glad to see bits of his technique survived after weeks without practice. M’Baku sidestepped him easily before charging forward. He used his size as leverage behind the staff. Bucky grunted as he blocked the attack with his sword, and the sheer force of M'Baku's blow sent him stumbling backwards, landing on his ass in the cold water.

Bucky found his balance on the shifting rocks, and threw himself forward. M’Baku was already there, swinging his staff around. Bucky was forced to jump back awkwardly to avoid it. He landed on wet sand and held himself steady. The fear of falling into the water again pushed Bucky to the offense. He dropped into his favorite pattern of attacks, letting his speed build with each cut.

M’Baku blocked the first, second, and third jab with ease. Bucky swung faster, and M'Baku just managed to bring the end of his staff around in time to parry the fourth. Bucky spared a half moment to readjust his footing and attacked again, scoring the tiniest hit as he clipped M’Baku in the hip. M’Baku stepped back, holding his staff in one hand and touching his hip with the other.

“Not bad.” The words had barely come through the air before M’Baku charged.

Bucky braced himself. He needed to get out of the way. M’Baku had the height advantage and the strength advantage. But Bucky didn’t have enough time _._ M’Baku slammed his staff against Bucky’s sword, and Bucky lost his grip, his sword falling with a splash into the water. M’Baku kicked the sword farther away and swung his staff up. He aimed to knock Bucky to the ground. In a panic, Bucky reached up and grabbed at the staff, stopping it mid-swing with his left hand.

Fire flowed through his fingers up his hand. It burned into his arm, but Bucky held steady. M’Baku tried to force the staff forward. With a loud creak, the middle of the staff began to bend. M’Baku jerked back, pulling the staff from Bucky’s grip.

Behind them, Shuri cheered.

Bucky settled into an unarmed fighting stance, looking up at M’Baku. He would have preferred his daggers, but his fists would have to do.

M’Baku laughed. “I have disarmed you, yet you think to keep fighting?”

“I haven’t yielded yet, have I?” Bucky knew it was ridiculous to keep trying, but he held his position anyhow.

With a shrug, M’Baku struck out, testing Bucky’s response time. Bucky jumped to the side, and rushed forward with the thought of trying to catch M’Baku off-balance. M’Baku’s follow through was impeccable, and he got his staff up in front of his body. Bucky slid to a stop in the water, ducking under another jab and popping up even closer to M’Baku.

Without a weapon, he didn’t really have a plan, so he just grabbed M’Baku’s staff close to his hands and tried to wretch it out of his grip.

M’Baku shook his head, put a hand on Bucky’s chest and pushed hard. Bucky stumbled backwards, splashing down to the ground. M’Baku tossed aside the staff lest Bucky try to break it again and pinned him.

“Smart move,” Bucky grunted as he finally yielded, the cold water refreshing on the back of his head.

M’Baku grinned as he got off Bucky and offered him a hand. “You did well enough.”

“He was going to snap your staff in half and you know it,” crowed Shuri as she splashed up to give Bucky a congratulatory hug.

“Thanks to you, Shuri,” Bucky said as he smiled at her. His braid dripped cold water down his back.

“That’s right.” Shuri patted M’Baku on the arm. “It’s like I practically defeated you myself, friend. Just wait until I teach him a thing or two about harnessing his strength.”

M’Baku grumbled, but he didn’t disagree, and his smile lit up his eyes.

Before Bucky could add to the conversation, T’Challa’s voice cut across the space. “We have visitors.” T'Challa approached, flanked by Okoye and Ayo.

Bucky snapped to attention, scanning the horizon as though he could catch the enemy on his own.

“An envoy from Midgard was spotted in the forests about an hour ago.” T’Challa looked past Bucky to M’Baku. “The other tribe leaders have agreed to let them through and bring them in. That perhaps now is the time to reveal Wakanda to the world. What say you?”

M’Baku straightened, shifting his whole posture into something more regal. He didn’t hesitate. “I agree.”

T’Challa nodded, turning to Bucky. “I believe they have your husband with them.”

The ground seemed to lurch beneath his feet, but somehow Bucky held himself steady. He even managed to nod.

Shuri put a hand on his arm. “Shall we get you back to get changed?” She laughed. “Or do you think your husband would prefer this?”

“Shuri!” T’Challa chastised, but Shuri was already heading back which left Bucky no choice but to follow in a rustle of furs.

 

~ ★ ~

 

An hour later, Bucky was sitting in the throne room of Black Sun Keep. It sprawled out in circles as far as Bucky could see. Colorful glass tiles overlay the stone floor, giving the room an airy feel supplemented by the large window behind the throne, one of the largest windows Bucky had ever seen. It was the window of a King who had few enemies.

T’Challa sat upon his wrought iron throne with Okoye and the rest of the Kingsguard spread across the room in an official receiving pattern. M’Baku sat with the three other tribal leaders spread in a half circle beside the throne. From his spot on the side of the room, Bucky tugged at the bottom of his braid, wondering exactly when he became a blushing maiden at the thought of seeing Steve again.

The procession entered the throne room slowly, Thor and Loki in front of Bryn and Ema. Bucky raised an eyebrow when two additional guards came in holding Maxwell in chains. But before he could process that turn of information, Steve was in the room and glancing around.

Their eyes met, and Bucky’s breath caught as he realized Steve had looked for him. Bucky wanted to shout, to call out Steve’s name, to do anything except stay in place and wait for Thor and T’Challa to exchange pleasantries. Bucky had to look away. It was another long moment before he could start to study Steve from the corner of his eye.

Steve’s hair was loose, shining in the sunlight pouring through the window. His uniform was clean, but his face was drawn, a hint of stubble on his chin. Bucky hadn’t looked in a mirror in how long? He touched his face, feeling stubble. He glanced at his arm, wondering if Steve had seen the glittering gold scars etched through the skin.

Bucky chanced another look. Steve was still staring at him with an intensity that had Bucky thankful for the chair he was sitting in. He wanted to drop to his knees in front of Steve. Bucky swallowed, and Steve seemed to grin, his eyes dancing behind the strength of his gaze.

When had Natasha entered the room? She was addressing T’Challa now, laying out evidence of some sort. Bucky heard her voice in one ear as he watched Steve, trying to figure out where they stood. Had Steve pleaded his case to Thor, argued that Bucky was probably dead? Had he asked Thor to dissolve the union?

The thought that their marriage might be dissolved and he was the last to know was a punch to the gut, and Bucky blinked back sudden tears. Steve hadn’t shifted from his parade rest posture, his spine straight and his feet firm on the ground. Maybe he was waiting to tell Bucky that it was over.

Thor nodded for Bryn to bring forward Maxwell, handing him to T’Challa. Bucky tore his eyes from Steve to watch.

“He is yours to do with as you see fit.” Thor turned and gestured to Bucky. “In return, we would ask that you consider this fulfillment of the terms on which James Barnes surrendered himself.”

T’Challa rose from his throne, stepping forward to met Maxwell. “Lady Natasha has presented a compelling case. However—”

Bucky’s blood ran cold as he gripped his chair.

“We will, of course, require additional time to confirm these accusations.” T’Challa turned from Thor to Bucky to Steve, watching their reactions.

Steve was clenching his fists, biting back words that Bucky knew he wanted to say. Whatever those words were exactly, Bucky would never know.

“During that time, I invite you to stay as my guests,” T’Challa continued. “I have no doubt we will be able to release Sir James within the week. Okoye? If you would be so kind as to show our friend here to his new rooms.”

Okoye grabbed Maxwell by the arm, marching him off while Bucky tried not to pick at the scabs on his arms, desperate to find a moment alone with Steve.

He had to know where they stood.

 

~ ★ ~

 

They stood in the rooms T’Challa offered Steve, and Steve pressed Bucky up against the wall before the door had been fully closed behind them. Bucky closed his eyes and parted his lips, and Steve didn’t waste the opportunity. Any remaining space between them disappeared in a heartbeat. Bucky’s lips were softer than he remembered, as intoxicating as a vintage wine. Steve’s mind clouded as Bucky slipped his tongue between his lips and teased at Steve’s tongue, playing against it, sucking lightly.

Steve closed his eyes and groaned as they kissed. Bucky’s taste lingered on his tongue. He would never let go of Bucky again. Their lips met again and again, Steve desperate to claim every kiss possible, irrationally afraid that Bucky would be taken away again if he let go for too long.

Bucky was already writhing up against him, pressing his leg between Steve’s thighs. Steve kept his grip firm on Bucky’s wrists, and a voice in the back of his mind reminded him to stop for a moment and make sure it was all right to touch him, make sure that his arm—

His arm.

Steve stepped back, pulling Bucky’s hand gently. Bucky stiffened from where he stood, but he didn’t take it back.

“How’s your arm? I'm sorry, I should have asked. You can move it. They—” Steve stopped, really looking at the skin for the first time. He traced a line on the golden scarring that circled Bucky’s fingers, his hands, his wrist. Steve pushed up Bucky’s sleeve and saw the scarring continue up the lines of his muscles. “What did they do to your arm?”

Bucky shrugged out of Steve’s grip. Steve held himself back from pressing right back up against him as Bucky took off his shirt, revealing scars that wound around his shoulder before ending abruptly at the unmarked skin of his chest.

“Shuri healed me,” he said, his voice deep and low.

It set off every nerve in Steve’s body.

His body heated with desire. He wanted to push Bucky’s pants down and take him, bring them together as closely as he could, so close that no one could separate them again. But first, he needed to make sure that Bucky wasn’t still hurt. He needed to make sure Bucky wanted him just as much, that Bucky knew how much Steve needed him.

Steve held Bucky’s hand again, amazed. “I can’t believe you pushed me out of the way of that boulder.” The emotion in his voice came out a lot rougher than he’d intended, and Bucky snatched his hand out of Steve’s grip with a glare that could melt ice.

“I can’t believe you’re going to chastise me for pushing you to safety when you jumped off of a gods-be-damned wall, Steve! Fucking hells, really?” Bucky snarled, his eyes flashing.

That anger was real. Bucky was _real._ Steve laughed, unable to hide the joy that bubbled up in his chest at seeing Bucky alive and healthy and mad at him as if they'd only been apart for a day.  

Bucky swore at Steve and shoved up against him, but even that was a tender touch compared to the time he’d pinned Steve up against the wall in their bunk. “You going to let me in on the joke?”

“No joke,” Steve said, relaxing into Bucky’s grip and smiling at him. “Just happy to see you.”

Bucky was half-naked, his chest expanding with every breath, the veins in his arms visible. He was here in front of Steve, and they could be together.

With a raised eyebrow, Bucky grabbed between Steve’s legs, teasing at the bulge tenting his pants. “I can tell.”

Steve tilted his hips forward, letting Bucky touch him through the fabric. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, savoring the soft skin and hard muscle as he ran his fingers across the small of Bucky’s back. Every touch had him needing more. He wanted to melt into Bucky’s warm body until he couldn’t tell where he ended and Bucky began.

Bucky was grumbling something else in Steve’s ear, his breath warm, and Steve shivered, somehow pressing even closer, bringing more of their bodies together. He needed to get his shirt off. He didn’t want to let go of Bucky.

“You smell like horse shit and sunshine,” Bucky added, pulling back and yanking at Steve’s shirt. “The clothes have to go.”

Steve grinned and all but tore off his shirt, flinging it across the room. He had his pants down before the shirt hit the ground, his cock working on bridging the gap between them.

Bucky looked down, and his eyes darkened. He licked his lips as he undid the tie to his pants, stepping out of them and pouncing on Steve like a starving animal, bringing their bodies back together in a slap of skin. Steve was happy to oblige Bucky’s needs, his hands moving over Bucky’s thighs. He trailed his thumbs on the strong muscles. Bucky had a hand tangled in Steve’s hair, keeping their mouths together as he pressed his tongue deep past Steve’s lips, teasing at Steve’s tongue, sucking on the soft skin of his lower lip. Steve bit back lightly, grinning when Bucky moaned between their mouths.

Bucky raked his fingers through Steve’s hair, just hard enough to tug on the scalp, and Steve closed his eyes as shivers ran down his spine to spark a fire in his groin. He unapologetically slotted his dick between Bucky’s thighs, rutting against him with a groan. His heavy panting filled the room as Bucky reached down with his other hand to tease at Steve’s balls.

Bucky grazed his fingernails against the sensitive skin and warmth shot through Steve’s body, a heat building so fast he could barely control it. He thrust against Bucky’s leg again, damned near ready to come on his thighs if that’s what Bucky wanted.

Steve sucked at a spot on Bucky’s neck, and Bucky pushed against him, tilting his head back for more.

“Gods,” Bucky managed, his voice a wrecked mess that had Steve ready to whimper. “Fuck me, please. I’ve missed you inside me.”

“I will if you want,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s skin. He was rewarded with another shudder and Bucky arching his back again, brushing his leaking cock against Steve’s hips and leaving a wet spot on his skin. “I’ll give you whatever you want, whenever I can.”

Bucky wrapped a leg around Steve’s waist as though he thought Steve needed more encouragement. Steve reached between Bucky’s legs and wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s cock, teasing the foreskin back. He fisted Bucky’s rock hard erection a few times before loosening his grip and ghosting his fingertips across his balls. He slid his hand even farther back until his first finger was pressed right up against Bucky’s entrance.

Steve teased at the muscle for a breath or two, Bucky rocking his hips against him and grabbing at his hair again, tangling his fingers through the strands. Bucky guided Steve’s head towards him until they were kissing again, Bucky sucking on Steve’s tongue. Steve pressed the first of his fingers inside, and Bucky moaned, a rough vibration against Steve’s lips.

They fell into a heated silence of togetherness, neither wanting to break the kiss, both breathing each other in like they’d die without their other half. Steve slid his finger in and out of Bucky gently, cherishing the chance to touch him so intimately. He needed to find a better spot for them to come together. Steve glanced around. There were some chairs across from a fireplace that he could have bent Bucky over and taken him, but this was not the time. Another door looked like it led to the bedroom. Steve brushed a kiss across Bucky’s lips, and Bucky parted his lips again, looking up at Steve from under dark lashes.

They needed a bed.

Steve pulled back, but before Bucky could complain, Steve lifted him up. He tossed Bucky over his shoulder, heading to the other room. Steve pushed open the door to reveal the bedroom.

“The fuck are you doing?” Bucky grumbled, though his words came out in a pant as he ran his hands over Steve’s straining arms and shoulders. Bucky’s erection pressed into Steve’s chest, letting Steve know how much Bucky was enjoying Steve’s show of strength.

Steve swept into the room with a smile, laying Bucky on the bed. Bucky wiggled back into the bedding, shaking his cock at Steve. Precum leaked from the tip, and Steve bent down to swipe at it with his tongue, earning himself another arch of Bucky’s back and a cock pushing between his lips. As good as Bucky’s solid dick on his tongue felt, Steve wanted to get back to where they’d been.

He slicked his finger with oil he found near the bed and crawled onto the bed. He pushed Bucky’s legs apart and slid that finger back inside him. Bucky’s skin flushed pink over his now tanned chest and stomach.

“Gods, Bucky, you’re so beautiful.” Steve ran a hand over Bucky’s chest, sliding fingers down his sternum, across his stomach, tracing the lines of Bucky’s hipbones that curved under his flushed skin. Goosebumps pricked on Bucky’s arms.

Steve worked in another finger, and he couldn’t help but reach over and rub at Bucky’s nipples, teasing each perfect bud in turn until they perked up, and Bucky groaned. He pinched at one as he added a third finger, and Bucky squirmed.

“Fucking hells, Steve. It’s been weeks, do you really need to add another couple of hours to the wait?” Bucky gasped as he thrust back onto Steve’s fingers, wrapping his hands around Steve’s waist and pulling him close. “Please. I’ve missed you so much. I need you.”

Steve buried his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck for several heartbeats, breathing in the sweet scent of Bucky’s hair, an earthen scent he’d thought he would never smell again. He nipped at the soft skin until Bucky was writhing and shuddering beneath him.

Only then did he help Bucky sling his legs up over his shoulders. Using a hand to line up his erection with Bucky’s entrance, Steve pushed in as slowly as he could, trying to drag out the delicious stretch of tight muscle over his cockhead. He wanted to savor every moment of their reunion, their choice to be together.

Bucky arched up his hips with a wrecked growl of impatience, forcing Steve in deeper. By the time Steve had seated himself fully inside Bucky, he was purring. Steve planted a hand on either side of Bucky’s shoulders as he fucked him slowly, kissing at Bucky’s chin, his ear, the side of his face, tasting every inch of his skin.

Shifting his legs to wrap around Steve’s hips, Bucky pulled him in as deep as he could. Steve leaned in to press his lips against Bucky’s again. They stayed like that for minutes that felt like a beautiful eternity. Bucky’s tight passage was warm around Steve’s already searingly hot cock, and they kissed as though they had never truly tasted each other before.

Steve pulled out so slowly, pushing back in with delicious long strokes and a torturously steady pace. He angled the thrusts just right, pressing along Bucky’s prostate to give him a drawn out moment of ecstasy. Beneath him, Bucky shouted and whined. He bucked his hips and begged. He clawed at Steve’s shoulders, his back, his sides, his fingers slipping on Steve’s sweaty skin. Steve didn’t move any faster, and it only had Bucky gripping tighter, panting harder, pleading and chanting Steve’s name over and over.

If Bucky was going to call on Steve’s name like a prayer, then Steve was determined to give him something worth praying for. He snapped his hips forward, slamming their bodies together with a sudden slick and sweaty intensity. He grunted encouragements in between breaths, reaching down between them to fist at Bucky’s hard, weeping cock. Steve slid his finger along the slit of his cockhead before jacking him off in time to their fucking.

Bucky clung to Steve as he came with a deep, earth-vibrating groan. His cock pulsed in Steve’s hand, waves of thick cum coating Steve’s fingers. Steve brought his hand to his mouth, licking the cum from between his fingers and groaning as he remembered the rush of the first time they’d gotten off together. It was more than enough to set him off, the sweeping tidal wave of his orgasm ripping through him as he thrust into Bucky again. He came, watching the beautiful blush of color that spread across Bucky’s cheeks as Steve spilled his seed inside him.

After a long moment, Bucky glanced at Steve’s lips and muttered, “If you’re just going to spit that on me, I’d advise against it.”

“Oh, really?” Steve helped Bucky ease his legs down as he pulled out. He leaned in to kiss him.

Despite his protests, Bucky kissed back, lazily sucking on Steve’s lip. He ran a hand down Steve’s back, bringing their hips together with a soft push. Steve met Bucky’s eyes and something sparked between them, an outpouring of hidden secrets.

“I love you,” Steve said, unable to stop himself.

Bucky’s eyes widened.

 

~ ★ ~

 

Bucky didn’t move his hand from Steve’s waist, didn’t move at all as he considered Steve’s words. “I—” He cast his eyes away from Steve. Steve’s hair fell over his face. Bucky swallowed on a suddenly dry mouth. Hadn’t they professed their hatred for each other months ago? Or had that anger been slowly peeled back, exposing something sweeter underneath?

Steve started to pull back from Bucky, and Bucky tightened his grip. “Wait,” he managed. Hadn’t he confessed to Shuri that he cared about Steve? Thought about him every night before he fell asleep?

Looking at him through blond hair and an openness that took Bucky by surprise, Steve filled the silence between them. “Maybe it’s ridiculous. Maybe I’m not thinking clearly. But I love you. When they took you away, I had this, uh, _moment_ where I thought about attacking T’Challa.”

“Nothing says love like acts of violence.” Bucky thanked the gods that his tone came out soft and teasing. He reached to touch Steve’s face, to brush hair from his forehead. Was that his heart pounding? Bucky licked his lips. “Every day that I’ve been away from you, I’ve missed you. The way you always focused on what needed to be done. You’re smart. You’re amazingly beautiful.” Bucky swatted at Steve’s hand as Steve reached out to touch him. “Wait. Let me finish. You’re also a jackass who bought into decades of fighting for no good reason beyond ‘it’s what we’ve always done.’ And me. I did that too.”

Steve nodded above him, and Bucky grabbed him, rolling him over so that they lay on their sides face to face.

“We’ll change it. We’ll change everything,” Steve said, leaning in and kissing Bucky.

Bucky smiled. “When you say it like that, I can’t help but believe it.”

A knock at the door turned out to be a servant coming to draw a bath for them. When the wooden tub was filled, they stood naked beside it, the water steaming hot. Bucky went to unwrap his braid, and Steve put a hand on his wrist, stopping him with a soft touch.

"May I?"

Bucky nodded, smoothing the end of his braid before handing it to Steve.

Steve unwrapped the length of leather that bound Bucky's hair and, starting at the end, combed his fingers up his hair inch by inch. As Steve worked to avoid knots, he pressed up against Bucky, a warm and firm presence. When Bucky's hair was down, Steve stepped back, and Bucky smiled shyly at him from behind a curtain of wavy, dark hair.

"You're so damned beautiful, Buck." Steve couldn't get out any other words, so he tucked a lock of Bucky's hair behind his ear and kissed his cheek. 

Some time later, they’d managed to tangle themselves into the tub together, Bucky sitting in Steve’s lap as they soaked in the warm water.

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, working soap through the strands. Bucky tilted his head back, resting against Steve’s collarbone and closing his eyes.

“I’ll never be able to rinse your hair like this.” Steve’s voice rumbled behind Bucky’s head.

Bucky shifted closer, the water lurching around them as he moved and his hips brushed up against Steve’s cock. Bucky didn’t need to look back to see Steve’s face; the way Steve rocked his hips beneath him was enough. Bucky ducked his head under the bathwater for a moment to get the soap out of his hair and stood up.

He pulled on Steve’s hand, and water splashed on the floor as they kissed while getting out of the tub together, trying to keep their skin in contact as they reached for the towels. Steve got there first, grabbing a towel and bringing it up to Bucky’s face. He wiped water away from Bucky’s cheeks, nose, lips, and chin, kissing each spot as it was dried. His stubble tickled at Bucky’s skin.

Steve worked his way down Bucky’s chest with firm circles of the towel, leaning down to press kisses down Bucky’s neck and across his collarbone until Bucky was squirming sweetly before him.

He dried Bucky’s arms, working his way down the right arm. He grabbed a few of Bucky’s fingers and sucked on them, looking up at Bucky with a teasing grin. Steve was impossibly gentle with Bucky’s left arm, taking care not to rip or tear any of the healing and scabbed skin around the scars.

Easing the towel down Bucky’s back, Steve nipped at Bucky’s neck, brushing his dark, wet hair out of the way and kissing the soft skin over and over. He was about to drop to his knees to dry Bucky’s more intimate areas when Bucky put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Wait,” Bucky said, the single word low and rough. Steve’s eyes darkened beautifully, the blue around the edges bright as sunlight. “I want to do this for you.”

He grabbed the second towel, working over Steve’s chest and back all the while pressing up against him, letting their cocks brush together. Sparks danced up his spine every time they touched.

By the time Bucky dropped his towel on the floor and knelt on top of it, Steve was nearly fully erect. Bucky leaned in, taking the tip of Steve’s cock into his mouth and sucking gently, enjoying the heft of Steve’s erection growing in his mouth.

Steve already had his hands in Bucky’s hair, stroking the wet tangles as Bucky took him deeper in his mouth, a slow slip of wet and heat and everything perfect. Bucky grabbed at Steve’s balls, letting them sit heavy in his hand.

Bucky looked up at Steve and was rewarded with the image of Steve’s half-closed eyes, his lips parted in a pant. Bucky had to stop and catch his breath. He wrapped a hand around Steve’s thigh, pulling Steve closer, taking him back in his mouth, teasing at the tip of Steve’s cock. Steve bucked his hips, pushing against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky smiled.

“This is really nice,” Steve breathed out, “but maybe you can take me instead? I want you inside me.” His eyes were still half-closed, and he looked down at Bucky from under his beautiful eyelashes.

Bucky couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to say no. He wanted to wrap Steve up in his arms and never let go. He rose from his knees, draping his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him so close. He smelled the perfume from the bathwater on Steve’s skin and the sunshine in his hair. Maybe the sunshine was just part of Steve. Bucky closed his eyes and pressed their lips together. Within moments, Steve was parting his lips and letting Bucky invade his mouth. Bucky couldn’t imagine a better, sweeter taste than Steve.

They managed to make it back to the bed, and Bucky climbed onto the mattress behind Steve, his dick already aching. Bucky grabbed Steve close and started kissing him again.

They had time, all the time in the world. Bucky reached down to tease Steve’s cock, rubbing his fingers lightly against the warm skin. He enjoyed the way Steve seemed to melt against him, the way their bodies fit together so closely that they had to have been designed for each other. He brought his hands up to feel Steve, to run his fingers along the cut of his arms and down the planes of his shoulders and back. He cupped Steve's chest, admiring his strength.

“Every part of you is perfect.” Bucky couldn’t help himself as he added, “A little training and you might even beat me in a duel one of these years.”

Steve grinned. “You little shit.” Somehow, it came out as a term of endearment, and Bucky couldn’t help the matching grin that spread across his face.

They kissed as Bucky dropped his hand to Steve’s lap, fisting Steve’s erection before gliding fingertips along the curve of his inner thighs and up to the firm muscle of his ass. By the time Bucky got around to piercing Steve’s hole with an oil-slicked finger, every inch of Steve's skin was warm, tensed and vibrating with need.

“Perfect,” Bucky repeated as he eyed Steve with hunger.

Steve thrust his hips up against Bucky’s finger as he nodded. “Feels good. Please, Bucky.”

Bucky wasn’t about to deny Steve anything he wanted. He couldn’t keep the slow pace as he stretched Steve with another finger, stroking his own cock with his other hand at the same time. The thought of pushing into Steve’s tight hole had Bucky arching his hips towards Steve, trying to get closer.

“I’m ready when you are,” Steve said, his voice hitching as he smiled up at Bucky from under those beautiful eyelashes.

Bucky nodded, grabbing Steve’s hips and starting to push in. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed as he breathed slowly and Bucky eased his way in, rocking his hips like gentle waves. Bucky’s skin faintly buzzed as they joined together, and Steve opened his eyes to look at him with utter adoration and contentment. Bucky chased that feeling, making love to Steve with long, slow strokes that had both of them breathless, clinging to each other and holding onto the moment as long as they could.

When Steve started to stroke himself, he met Bucky’s eyes again. He didn’t have to say anything. The words _I love you_ were written in his gaze, in his dilated pupils, his flushed cheeks, and his parted lips. Bucky leaned in, kissing Steve’s forehead and running a thumb on his cheekbones. He whispered his love in Steve’s ear, smiling when Steve shivered at his voice.

 

 

Bucky came first, an orgasm that started low and quiet and built in intensity so quickly that he had to stop midthrust as his climax slammed over them, his cock pulsing deep within Steve. Steve groaned as he came a few moments later, white spurts of cum striping his stomach. Bucky pressed their bodies together as he wrapped Steve’s face in his hands and kissed him, a taste sweeter than any fruit.

They lay together, the entirety of the rest of the world forgotten.

 

~ ★ ~

 

They spent a week in Wakanda. Bucky brought Steve to the little house he’d been staying in, introducing him to the villagers and showing him the games the children liked to play. They spent the days helping with chores in the village and around Black Sun Keep and spent the evenings tangled together, learning more about each other each night.

One night, they went out to a quiet field to enjoy supper under the stars. Steve gathered dry wood to start a fire as Bucky spread out a blanket on the dirt away from the flames.

“I still can’t help but think you were hopeful that I’d not be your problem anymore.” Bucky busied himself with tugging at the corner of the blanket and staring at the ground. “That it’d make your life easier if I was gone.”

Steve looked up from the fledgling fire. “Bucky. No. I couldn’t think about anything except for you. From the moment they took you until I knew that you were alive.” He walked between the wood and supplies until he was behind Bucky, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Bucky leaned back against Steve. The sun was starting to set, they still hadn’t had supper, and the fire was trying to go out. It didn’t matter. Bucky enjoyed the warmth of Steve’s embrace. He leaned his head against the expanse of Steve’s chest and smiled. Steve smelled like gods-be-damned sunshine-bathed fields.

“You’re my husband.” Steve tightened his hug as if afraid Bucky would disappear if he let him go. “And I know we got off to a rough start. We can’t pretend otherwise. But I’ll die before I let someone hurt you.”

“Right, a rough start,” said Bucky with a bit of a laugh as he relaxed into Steve’s arms. “Just like how the Battle of Brightglass was losing a lot of good men to arrows.” He frowned. “How are we going to make this work? I mean, really work. If Maxwell was willing to kill a king to separate us and keep the fight going, then what happens next?”

“I guess we’re going to use our experience with rough starts,” Steve said as he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “We’ll show them we won’t tolerate fighting. Set the example.”

“We can organize a tournament.” Bucky laughed. “It worked for us, right?”

The way Steve’s shoulders stiffened ever so slightly let Bucky know that Steve was raising an eyebrow.

“No, still hated you then, you gods-be-damned cheating duelist.” Steve kissed the top of Bucky’s head again.

“I won fairly as the entirety of the Kingdom can attest.” Bucky grinned. “How about after you caught the assassin? Still not then?”

“Hate with a fair amount of frustration,” Steve agreed.

“The war?”

Steve paused, loosening his embrace and gently guiding Bucky to turn until they were face to face. “Something changed. I don’t know when exactly. But when you left to ensure Becca’s safety, I missed you. And I realized that maybe I didn’t want to see you dead.”

“Romantic.” But Bucky smiled and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, leaning in again. “I love you, Steve, I really do.”

Steve grabbed Bucky around the waist and pulled him close, bringing their lips together. The sweet brush of skin against skin sent a pleasant, jolting shock through Bucky’s body, and his breath caught. Steve met Bucky’s eyes and that same buzz of lightning seemed to travel down his body again. Bucky couldn’t have taken his hands off Steve if he’d tried.

They kissed next to a basket of uneaten food, and undressed each other on top of the blanket by the warm little remnants of the fire. The sun set behind Bucky as he pushed Steve down onto the ground and straddled his lap, easing himself down on Steve’s cock. The last rays of sunlight hit Steve’s hair and it shone.

Under the first twinkling stars of the night, they held each other close. Bucky rested his head on Steve’s chest and listened to his heart beat. “It’s going to be so weird, going to our own place.”

Steve’s voice rumbled in his chest as he spoke. “Yes. And your mother wrote and said we need to stop by for a visit on the way to our own keep. And my father wants to know what we’re going to name it.”

Bucky thought about it, watching the stars in the sky. The rising moon was full and glowing. The stars winked. “I suppose we’ll need to combine something from our homes, to show our dedication to a new start. I suggest Starforge Keep.”

“Starforge? It sounds nice, but I don’t want our name to be associated with weaponry. No more fighting.” Steve shook his head, the movement reaching down to his chest. Bucky smiled as Steve considered the options. “How about Winterfell?”

“Winterfell.” Bucky repeated the name, let it sit on his tongue as he began to idly braid Steve's hair. “I think that’s wonderful, Steve.”

 

~ ★ ~

 

Mid-morning the next day, T’Challa called them to his throne room for a private audience.

Steve and Bucky had been out in the field, chopping and hauling wood. Bucky had wood chips in his braid, and Steve had a piece of straw behind his ear.

T’Challa motioned for them to sit. “I imagine you’ll both appreciate me getting to the point. We have concluded our investigation. Today, I officially clear your name, Sir James Barnes, of our accusation of murder. You are free to go.”

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief. His grin lit up the room. “Thank you, your Highness.”

“I hope that the next time we meet, it is under much better circumstances.” T’Challa bowed his head and Bucky and Steve joined him in a moment of reflection for T’Chaka.

Afterwards, T’Challa opened the hall to allow everyone in for a meal before they set out for Midgard. Thor exchanged weapon advice with M’Baku while Loki questioned Shuri about some of her amazing inventions. Bryn and Ema stood guard with Okoye and Ayo, exchanging tales and grunting with laugher every now and again.

The sun was high overhead as the Midgardian envoy prepared for their journey. Bucky was thrilled to see Steve leading Aric over.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Bucky said as he ducked his head in reverence to T’Challa after Thor had exchanged farewells with a promise to host them at Castle Asgard again soon. “M’Baku, it was an honor to duel you. And Shuri, thank you for everything.”

“Same to you,” M’Baku nodded with a grin. “Try harder next time.”

Shuri smiled as she wrapped him up in a strong hug. “You take care of yourself, Barnes. Don’t listen to whatever M’Baku tells you.”

“I appreciate you taking such good care of my husband,” Steve said as bowed his head. “Thank you.”

At the front of the procession, Thor and Loki began to ride with their Kingsguard close behind. Natasha turned back to look at Steve and Bucky, waving them on.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand. His hand was warm, and his smile was every bit as bright as the sun. “C’mon Buck. Let’s go home.”

  
~ ★ ~

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, folks. I hope you've enjoyed the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into this fic. Thank you guys for the COMMENTS and LOVE! Holy crap. I live on comments, and you guys have got me set for the next decade! ;p
> 
> Thank you again to Alby for providing the inspiration, the motivation, the magnificent, heart-stopping art, the literally everything that makes this piece as powerful as it is!
> 
> Fun fact! Alby and I have collaborated before (she brings out the best in me). ;p If you wanna see either piece:
> 
> [Bed Bugs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182871) An explicit Sam/Scott one shot  
> [ I'm With the Band?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840247/chapters/26726808) An explicit college band au. It's uh, a lot more fluff than what you just got through. ;p
> 
> Find us on tumblr!  
> [ Mystrana](http://mystrana.tumblr.com/)  
> [ Alby ](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/)
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Art will be crossposted to [alby's Tumblr in the Ice and Fire tag](http://artgroves.tumblr.com/tagged/Ice-and-Fire)


End file.
